


Sed Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renegade Watchers are intent on control. MacLeod is their next target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sed Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes

  


**New York State  
2002**

Thomas Dirk squatted behind the solid rust-colored brick of the empty warehouse and waited. Pulling his duster more tightly around his chest, he shivered as the cold morning air nipped through his clothing, while the sound of clashing swords sang into the still air with only the occasional curse and grunt of pain disrupting the harsh melody. Thomas smoothed back his thick red hair and shifted, grimacing when his foot slid across loose gravel, disrupting his equilibrium and causing him to fall heavily against the brick. He held very still and tried not to breathe. The fighting never paused, however, and after a few moments he shifted once again and tightened his hold on the gun lodged deep within his coat pocket.

He thought of his fellow Watchers and their fawning praise of their immortal's skill. All of them fools, he thought with disgust. Frankly, he found the brutality of the fight revulsive and refused to watch. It didn't matter who won, after all. One immortal would kill the other. Then, after the quickening, Dirk would take out the winner. It was the only way he could continue Horton's mission now. Their mission. His way wasn't as productive, but effective. He would only have to wait to be reassigned and then he would begin again. Both simple and cunning, he thought smugly, barely noticing the abrupt end to the fight until the sudden quiet pulled him to attention. He peered around the building and squinted into the sunlight. And waited.

The immortal, Leo Callum, was screaming in apparent pleasure and agony while his opponent's quickening tore into him. Dirk waited, knowing his window of opportunity would be limited to the few minutes right after the quickening when the immortal would be at his most vulnerable. He watched Callum drop to his knees as the final tendrils of energy seeped into his body, and he stepped away from the building, his gun drawn and ready. One well placed bullet would put the immortal down, then he would take his head and the world would be well rid of two abominations. Only he hadn't fully taken into account the opponent's Watcher. Of course, he had briefly scoped out the area after the two immortals had arrived, but once satisfied that no one else was present, he had put it out of his mind. Therefore, it was a complete surprise when he was grabbed from behind, startling him. His gun discharged into the air, and while no one was hit, Callum now knew he was there.

Dirk didn't wait around to see his assignment force himself up from the ground or reach for his sword. He pushed the other Watcher back against the wall and dropped the gun, then ran as fast as he could towards his car which he had carefully stowed around the other side of the building.

He found out later that his fellow Watcher, Dean Graves, had been killed by Callum. Unfortunately, not before Graves had called into Headquarters, identifying him at the scene. He supposed he was lucky that he'd only been fired. Other Watchers had been permanently terminated.

**~~~~~~**

**Watcher Headquarters  
** **New York City  
2003 **

Mike Austin, former senior Watcher, leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished wood of his mahogany desk, and scowled, deepening the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. His friend and fellow Watcher, Thomas Dirk, was pacing aimlessly back and forth in the sparsely furnished, yet opulent office.

Austin slid his small wire rimmed glasses up the bridge of his slender nose with one finger and sighed heavily. "For God's sake, Dirk. Stop pacing. We'll hear something soon enough."

Dirk spun around sharply to face him. "Don't patronize me, Mike. There's too much at stake here. You know as well as I do how much can go wrong."

"Of course I do. But it won't. We have been very careful this time."

Both men startled when Austin's cell chirped a cheery tune from inside his coat. Dirk folded his arms across his chest and waited while Austin stalked across the plush carpet to the coat rack to retrieve his phone.

"Austin," he spoke into the receiver. "Uh huh, yes, very good. Have the pilot on stand by." He glanced at Dirk, who was watching him expectantly from across the room. With a self satisfied grin, Austin clicked off the phone and addressed his partner. "Everything's in place. The operation is set to begin on schedule. Prepare Dr. Koch."

Thomas Dirk nodded his assent and turned quickly to leave the room.

Once he was alone, Austin reclined onto the plush leather chair behind his desk. Finally his dreams were being realized. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his smile softening the lines that often aged his face well beyond his years.

The memories were always there, right below the surface, and never far away.

****

**~~~~~~**

**An abandoned office building outside Paris  
1992**

Mike Austin tossed his briefcase aside in frustration, and glared at the man facing him with a tolerant smile on his face.

"Mike," James Horton soothed in a gentle voice. "You're not ready to go with us on a mission. Trust me, you're much more useful to us here."

"Dammit, Horton. I can still keep up with the books. Just give me a chance, please." Mike knew he was begging, and felt his face flush when the four other men snickered behind him.

It was satisfying when Horton snapped at them irritably. "Enough! What Mike does is invaluable to us. It's only due to his skills that we have the funds to support our mission."

Horton turned back to him and smiled. "I know you want a chance to kill an immortal and rid the world of one more abomination. I understand. But, our missions are dangerous. We risk our lives every time we go out. What if something happened to you? Mike, you're a very important part of our team."

He followed Horton's gaze to the other men and knew Horton was daring them to dispute him. So, he had stayed behind, once again, to hack into the secured section of the Watcher database and prepare to rid another immortal of all his liquid assets. And, why shouldn't he? The damned immortal wouldn't need it. Not after a visit from Horton and his men.

**~~~~~~**

**Present day**

Mike Austin poured a snifter of brandy and held it up in salute.

"To you, Horton." He smiled and brought the glass to his lips. The liquor was smooth and heady going down, and he sipped it slowly as he once again reclined into his office chair. A deep frown marred his face when the bitter memories of a more recent time burned into his mind. Horton was gone. Killed by MacLeod. But Mike hadn't seen any reason to stop pilfering from the dead immortals.

His assignment had been an immortal head hunter. All he had to do was follow and wait. Then, once his immortal took the head of his opponent, Mike would rush back and immediately start the process of transferring the dead immortal's cash flow -- until he was caught -- he reminded himself with a scowl. He had become sloppy, careless. He could still taste the bile in the back of his throat, the deep rumbling fear when he had been arrested.

The Watchers had used their vast resources to get him free, of course. He knew too much; was too much of a wild card to allow him to go to prison. But that hadn't stopped them from demoting him from his management position. Taking away all his rank and seniority. Taking away his security clearance, his codes to all the Watcher's files.

He could still taste the humiliation, choking him, smothering him. The Watchers. What the hell did they know? Nothing. The sanctimonious asses and their rules. All they did was watch. Well, he wasn't just watching any longer, and he wasn't taking orders. He had the technology within his reach to control immortals. Control the Game.

Horton was gone and no one was going to hold him back any longer.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos moved his mouth against his lover's as their tongues stroked together in a sensual dance. Duncan's lips were soft and urgent against his own, and Methos moaned into the kiss, shivering against his lover's solid chest while breathing in the intoxicating blend of aftershave and arousal. The wet velvet of Duncan's tongue slid across his own and he tasted the sweet bitterness of their morning java mixed with the stronger taste of Duncan's own maleness.

Methos melted against his lover's body, then pulled away, frustrated that an unexpected meeting was interfering with their plans. Ever since he and Duncan had begun their affair, they had kept weekends free for just themselves. And, even though they tended to swap back and forth between their respective residences, they always planned on being together from Friday nights until Monday mornings when their schedules would invariably lead them into separate directions.

But this morning an urgent phone call from a prospective buyer had Duncan MacLeod leaving Methos' side to rush off for a meeting at his newly opened antique shop in downtown Seacouver.

"I won't be long, Methos. Wait for me and we'll drive up to the mountains this afternoon," Duncan promised as they pulled apart.

"I'll be here, Duncan. Just ..." He paused and looked at his lover intently. "... be careful."

"I will, love." Duncan wrapped his hand around Methos' nape and brought him in for one more hard, quick kiss before releasing him with a grin.

"Later." Methos grinned back until Duncan closed the door and disappeared from his sight. He stood for long minutes as Duncan's presence slipped away from his senses, a frown replacing his smile as warning bells went off in his head.

Something didn't feel right, and while there was nothing tangible for him to place his fears on, he had learned long ago to pay careful attention to his instincts.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan MacLeod pulled his black Range Rover into the parking space behind his antique shop, and noted with displeasure that his buyer had not yet arrived. He walked around his vehicle and peered down the street, his sunglasses shading his eyes from the morning glare. Frowning, he shook his head, becoming increasingly more annoyed as he fished inside his jacket pocket for his key to the shop. Turning, he slid the key into the lock, and froze as a car rounded the corner, its tires squealing across the asphalt. He unlocked the door as the black sedan pulled up behind him. As if in slow motion, he ducked and pushed, the sedan's tinted window lowered, and a high-powered rifle appeared from its depths.

Suddenly, the door was open and he was falling backward into the shop. The impact from the rifle hit him full in the chest, propelling him to the floor as the bullet tore through muscle and bone, and ripped through a lung before lodging in his spinal column, paralyzing him. He knew he was dying as his chest filled with blood and pooled in his mouth. He thought of his lover -- his knowing hazel eyes -- his warm embrace -- before he choked on his own blood and felt his life drain away.

****

**~~~~~~**

**Watcher's Lab  
** **Seacouver, Washington  
An Office Building **

Mike Austin reclined in his chair, enjoying the comfort of the leather supporting his body as he peered through the observation room's large glass window.

On the other side was a meticulously equipped lab set up by himself and Dr. Koch, a physician, scientist -- and Watcher.

He observed Dr. Koch moving around the spacious room as he checked his equipment and sorted out his instruments onto several shining silver trays. Dr. Koch was a tall, thin man with short sandy hair, quite plain and simplistic in his looks and manner, with his nondescript face and black rimmed glasses. He had thin shapeless lips that never seemed to hold a smile as he touched and probed, stopping only to record his findings in the leather-bound notebook he always seemed to have at his side.

Austin had to admit the doctor was a genius, if completely without personality, and he tapped his fingers on the polished black desktop as he monitored the proceedings. The heavy security door clicked open behind him and he startled, his tense muscles only relaxing when Tom Dirk entered the room and sank down in the chair next to his.

"How's it coming?" Dirk asked with an inclination of his head toward the lab.

Mike Austin turned his attention back to the doctor and his patient. "He's removed the bullet. MacLeod's spinal cord should be healing already."

"How long does he think everything will take?"

Austin turned and flashed a smile at his friend. "A couple of days for the testing."

Thomas Dirk frowned, furrowing his thick red brows as he squinted at the window. "And then?"

"Then --" Mike Austin chuckled. "We'll be in control of one of the most powerful immortals in the world."

"And if it doesn't work?" Dirk asked softly.

Austin turned and regarded the other man with annoyance. "It will work."

****

**~~~~~~**

Dr. Koch walked around the stretcher and studied his patient. The bedside monitor beeped as it recorded vitals, and he noted smugly that his patient was reacting as expected. An infusion pump was delivering a heavy sedative into his patient's veins at a steady rate which kept him well sedated during the procedures.

A ventilator delivered measured breaths to MacLeod's lungs through an endotracheal tube. Dr. Koch noted the even rise and fall of the immortal's chest, his regular heartbeat as it blipped across the screen, and his blood pressure of 80/40. The pressure, he knew, was a little low due to the sedative, but in any case, the immortal was in no immediate danger, and it assisted in containing the blood loss as he obtained his specimens.

His carefully labeled specimen bottles lined a small metal table next to the stretcher. 'Lung tissue, brain, heart, stomach, pancreas, spleen,' he mentally listed each small section of tissue in its own sterile container.

Satisfied, Dr. Koch slid on sterile gloves and picked up the appropriate scalpel. With careful deliberation, he sliced into Duncan MacLeod's thigh, cutting out a small wedge of skin and tissue. He picked up the small section with sterile tweezers and delivered it into a specimen cup.

Moving up to MacLeod's chest, he hovered there a long moment, then lowered the blade to his biceps instead. A deep incision into the muscle rewarded him another sample for study. He dropped the blade into a bedside needle box and removed his gloves, then reached for the permanent black Sharpie to label his new specimens.

Once done, he wrapped a tourniquet securely around his patient's arm, inserted a large bore needle into a prominent vein and filled several vials of different colored tubes with blood. Looking up, he noticed the two Watchers studying him from the window, and frowned deeply. He didn't like the others watching him while he worked, although he could understand their curiosity.

He released the tourniquet and removed his gloves, taking special care to label each vial of blood with one name -- Duncan MacLeod.

 _Almost done,_ he thought wearily. One more sample and his examination would be complete. He picked up the boxed catheter and opened it carefully. He knew his fellow Watchers thought his care was unnecessary. After all, an immortal would not get an infection and if he died, he would only revive. Still, he refused to inflict unnecessary pain or compromise his own standards of practice.

He unwrapped the covering, slipped on his sterile gloves and opened first the betadine, then the lubricant. He picked up his patient's lax penis with one hand and cleaned the head with a betadine soaked cotton ball. Satisfied, he coated the catheter with lubricant and inserted it into the man's urethra. It slipped in easily, and soon the plastic container was filling with clear yellow urine. Once done, he removed the catheter and discarded his supplies.

He covered MacLeod with a sheet, walked over to his desk, and leaned over to flick on the intercom.

"We're finished. I'll need at least seventy-two hours to study the samples and another forty-eight to complete the report."

"Good enough," Austin stated, satisfied. "Are you going to keep him sedated?"

"I think that's best, don't you?" Dr. Koch answered, his skin prickling with irritation.

"Whatever you think, Doctor. Whatever you think." 

The doctor bristled at the other man's patronizing tone. He didn't miss when Austin turned to Dirk and smiled knowingly, and another check mark was added to Koch's mental scorecard. The negative marks were accumulating quickly. 

****

**~~~~~~**

Thomas Dirk scowled at his friend's smug expression. His mood wasn't helped when Austin chuckled in response.

"You've never liked our good doctor, have you, Tom?"

"He's always been a sanctimonious ass, thinking his motives are good and pure while the rest of us are merely killers."

Austin shrugged. "Maybe he's right." That statement was met by a decisive snort of disgust and Austin laughed outright.

"Lighten up, Dirk. Dr. Koch is well aware of his participation in our little drama. He knew we were killing the immortals Horton brought to him for dissection. He had no problem with his scruples as long as we continued to supply him with specimens. The fact that he wasn't involved with the actual killings makes no difference."

"He doesn't see it that way," Dirk insisted churlishly.

"It doesn't matter." Austin turned to him somberly. "He was discovered soon after Horton was killed. You are both out of the Watchers. We need him, and more importantly, he needs us. Lets just keep our goals in focus here."

Dirk looked through the glass window into the lab. Duncan MacLeod, one of the most powerful immortals in the Game, was lying on a steel table, unconscious and at their mercy. And there was nothing the Watchers could do to stop them now.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos went from room to room searching through Duncan's papers and clothes -- anything that would give him a clue to his lover's disappearance. Duncan MacLeod had been missing for forty-eight hours, with the only clue the pool of dried blood on the entranceway floor inside Duncan's antique shop.

Methos had become worried almost immediately when Duncan failed to appear at home that afternoon as promised. A call to Duncan's cell phone only netted him a recorded message that he wasn't available. That had led to a hurried drive to the small, elegant shop and the discovery of the blood. The door had been closed, but unlocked, without any signs of forced entry. Duncan's SUV was still parked out front, locked, just as he had left it.

There was nothing remiss in the antique shop. Nothing seemed to be disturbed and everything was in its normal place. Methos had conducted a thorough search of the premises, concerned when he couldn't uncover a single clue to Duncan's whereabouts. His safe was secure, his cheque book was fully accounted for. Every expensive piece of merchandise was untouched. Everything was in place except for the tell-tale pool of dried blood.

He took one last cursory look around Duncan's office, smiling when he picked up the five by seven picture of the two of them now displayed on Duncan's desk. Assured there was nothing else to be garnered from the shop, he carefully placed the picture back on the desk and left the premises, making sure the front door was once again secure.

He was now in Duncan's apartment, sorting through papers in his study, once again frustrated with his lack of success. Nothing. Duncan had obviously been set up by someone. But nothing in either the Highlander's home or workplace gave him a clue to either his perpetrator or his whereabouts. His worst fear was that someone had taken Duncan to another location and taken his head. But somehow, deep inside, he knew Duncan was still alive. He only had to find him. Finally, frustrated with his lack of results, he left Duncan's apartment and drove to Joe's Blues Bar.

His Watcher and friend was setting up the bar when Methos arrived. He strode in and dropped down on a bar stool, grabbing the cold bottle of beer that instantly appeared before him. "Thanks Joe," he murmured.

Joe looked on warily as Methos downed a good portion of the beer in a couple of gulps.

"Anything?"

Methos set down his beer and shook his head. "No. Nothing. If it weren't for the blood, I'd think he simply fell off the bloody earth. Any reports on lightening storms in the area, Joe?"

Joe finished lining up his glasses, then tossed his bar towel aside with an exasperated sigh. "None."

"Well, wherever he is, at least he may still be alive."

Joe looked away, a dour look crossing his face, and Methos felt his temper rise. "What, Joe?"

"Dammit, Methos," Joe hissed back at him. "You've heard the rumors. There may be another group of renegade Watchers operating out there. And, you know as well as I do, if mortals took his head, there wouldn't be a quickening."

"You're giving up on him already?" Methos asked accusingly, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he leaned forward into Joe's personal space.

"You know better than that, Methos," Joe spat back at him. "I've got my men out looking. If he's alive, we'll find him. I just want you to be realistic, my friend," Joe added in a gentler tone as Methos deflated back in his seat.

"We've got to find him, Joe. He's too important to lose."

"He's one of the best in the Game. We always thought he'd be the one to win." Joe agreed. 

Methos set down his beer and shook his head. "No, not the Game. To me. Just to me, Joe."

****

**~~~~~~**

**An Office Building  
Seacouver, Washington **

Tom Dirk stirred cream into his coffee, watching as the dark liquid turned caramel colored in his cup. Sitting beside him, Mike Austin was shifting uneasily in his seat while sorting through papers, his fingers flipping restlessly through the loose leaf pages. Across the table, Dr. Lee Koch was impatiently drumming his fingers on the black Formica desktop while Austin read his completed report. Obviously annoyed, Austin stopped reading and looked up, paralyzing the doctor with a glare as he stared first at Koch's face, and then his fingers, as they pelted the desk. Koch froze, then swallowed nervously, removing his hands to fall into his lap once Austin had returned his attention back to the report. Dirk watched the other men impassively, noting the look of smug satisfaction that appeared on Austin's face when he saw Koch wipe the gathering moisture from his hands onto his pants. He heard the door behind him open and close, and Dr. Koch jumped minutely, apparently startled as the noise broke into the unnerving silence. All three men turned when a young, slender blonde slid past them and sat down, her dark red mini skirt riding up high on her thighs.

Austin observed without smiling, while Dirk settled himself more comfortably at the end of the table and sipped his coffee.

Austin set down the report, and regarded each of his fellow Watchers silently, a grin working his mouth as he saw them fidget under his stare. "Dr. Koch," he addressed the thin beakish man sitting across from him. "Why don't you explain your findings for us?"

The doctor adjusted his black rimmed glasses and cleared his throat. "As my report states, there were no discernible differences between MacLeod's samples and those of the other immortals we had tested."

"Did you really think there would be?" Dirk asked.

"Not really," Austin interjected before the doctor could answer, then motioned for him to continue with a nod of his head.

"We really weren't sure." Koch cleared his throat again. "But the other immortals were all much younger than MacLeod, barely in the Game. We wondered if there were any changes after they aged and took in a few quickenings. If there were any differences in their recovery time, for instance. Unfortunately, MacLeod's samples didn't really tell us anything new. The theory was that the regeneration takes place at a cellular level. However, under the microscope there were no differences between immortal cells and mortal. Which leads me to deduce that a very complex exchange occurs in their bodies that we have thus far not been able to replicate. It may be hormonal, or more likely, an exchange or breakdown of proteins that is different between them and us." Koch stood up and began pacing as his voice became stronger. "Once the tissue is extracted away from its host, that reaction can no longer occur and the tissue degenerates normally."

"Then what you're telling us, is that you didn't find out one damn thing we already didn't know," Dirk remarked snidely.

"Not exactly, Dirk," Austin corrected him with a smile. "Sometimes you can learn more by what you don't see as much as what you do."

Dirk scowled at both men, but remained silent. Beside him, the blonde female was fidgeting and sighing from apparent boredom.

Austin turned his attention back to the doctor. "Why don't you fill us in on the rest, Koch?"

Dr. Koch continued to stand, his white lab coat hanging large and loose on his too thin frame. He pointedly looked at each of them as he continued. "I placed a small disk inside MacLeod's brain."

"What's the point?" Dirk snapped at him impatiently.

"The point," Dr. Koch answered coldly, "is that the disk emits short bursts of electrical energy that causes the brain to release neurotransmitters. If this works the way I think it will, we can control MacLeod."

"Won't he feel it?" the blonde finally spoke, her voice tinged with interest.

"No." The doctor acknowledged her with a shake of his head. He started pacing once again. "It's only the size of a dime. His brain healed around it immediately. A person's brain normally emits electrical impulses, and he won't feel the short bursts the disk releases. We have it programmed to stimulate the release of small amounts of certain neurotransmitters that will dictate his behavior. Furthermore, it's controlled by a master computer that only I and Austin have access to."

"Change his behavior, how?" The woman asked worriedly.

Austin nodded to Koch, a non-verbal cue the doctor responded to by immediately taking his seat. Austin looked at each member of his team to gauge their reactions. "For one thing, until he's released, we've programmed the disk to emit almost continuous bursts of electrical impulses which should cause him to have a complete memory loss regarding the events that led up to his confinement. When we release him, he won't remember anything about us."

Dirk shrugged. "I don't understand, Mike. How will that enable us to control him? I mean, just because he doesn't remember that we took him ...."

Austin noticed Koch smirking in apparent amusement, and his temper began to flare. "Are you deliberately being more dense than usual tonight, Tom? Because I'm finding it highly tedious."

Dirk turned ashen and looked away, and Koch took the opportunity to answer. "Well, it's a little more complex than that. Chemical neurotransmitters transmit messages between nerve cells. They are not only necessary, but any imbalance will cause changes in not only behavior, but perception and mood as well. In fact, many psychiatric disorders can be directly related to a deficient or unbalanced neurotransmitter etiology."

The woman looked at Austin and snorted unattractively. "Is he always so tiresome?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she turned back toward Dr. Koch. "Simply, Doctor, how will this affect his memories? And how can I expect him to act? He's not going to be a nut case, is he? Because that's not what I agreed to." She turned to glare at Austin, who leaned over and patted her arm.

"Of course not. Dr. Koch, please try and keep your explanations simple." Austin snapped at him.

Chastised, Dr. Koch shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "Of course." He glared at the woman before continuing. "We won't disrupt his normal brain activity enough to make him a ... nut case." He paused and looked at Austin. "As far as his memories, have you ever heard of electroconvulsive therapy or ECT?"

"Shock therapy?" Dirk offered from his seat across the table.

"Exactly. When a patient undergoes ... shock therapy, he usually has mild to severe memory disruption. Each patient is different and it depends on the amount of electrical impulses his brain was subjected to, but memory loss to some extent is universal. I've given MacLeod's brain enough electrical stimulation to ensure both recent and, to a somewhat lesser degree, remote memory loss. _Simply_ put," he emphasized the word to the female, "he may remember his student, Pierson. And Dawson. But his remote memories will be fuzzy and there will be a big block of recent time missing."

"And that's where I come in," the female interjected.

"Precisely." Mike Austin grinned widely again. "Let me introduce you, my dear." He turned to the other two men. "I'd like to introduce you to Kim Lacey. Is everything ready?" he addressed her directly.

She nodded. "Absolutely. I have my things planted in his loft and at the antique shop. I have keys to all his properties, including his car. He has a new cell phone with our programmed contacts. My picture is sitting on his desk and the lab was able to make digital manipulations of us together which I have displayed in his bedroom. I have a work history set up, family, even old school records."

Thomas Dirk laughed out loud. "You think he's going to buy that?"

Austin threw him a glare of irritation. But Kim just smiled sweetly. "It will work. We have people infiltrated throughout the entire Watcher organization, Dirk. We have all the support we'll need. MacLeod will be trying to put his memories back in place. And I'll be there to help. As far as Duncan MacLeod will be concerned, we've been a blissfully happy couple."

"I know we haven't always been successful in the past, but I feel confident this time will be different. The problem we had before was with the combination and dosages of the neurotransmitters." Dr. Koch assured her.

Mike Austin looked pointedly at Dirk and cleared his throat. "Kim knows about our first few, shall we say, unfortunate attempts. But, I've assured her that we have everything under control."

Austin redirected his attention to the blond woman sitting next to him. "Dr. Koch will give you a remote device. It's about the size of a small calculator so you should be able to conceal it easily. It's linked to the computer program that controls MacLeod's disk. In an emergency, and _only_ in an emergency, you can press the control and MacLeod will automatically be delivered a lethal electrical shock to his brain. He will die immediately. If that happens, you're to get out. No exceptions."

She sat back casually and tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails against the shiny black tabletop. "Don't worry about me. I can handle MacLeod," she assured him smugly.

"The point? Why are you even involved in this? You're not a Watcher," Dirk observed, now appearing both annoyed and curious.

"The point is that I'll be there, the closest person in the world to him. I can help control him. Monitor his responses and keep Dr. Koch informed so he can adjust the electrical stimulation if he needs to. And, in the very unlikely chance that something goes wrong, I'll know and can warn you. And --" She grinned impishly. "Who said I'm not a Watcher?"

"You don't have a Watcher tattoo." Dirk narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I'm in covert operations. I don't have a tattoo. But, I guarantee you, all my credentials are in order. I'm in this all the way and for the same reasons you are. Immortals are a threat to mankind. We have to learn to control them and the Game before it's too late."

"But, to pretend to be his lover? That's taking quite a risk, isn't it?"

"Not really," Dr. Koch interjected. "We'll have plenty of leeway there. Kim will have to feel him out first, of course. She'll need to know exactly what he does remember. But, I really don't think she's going to have any trouble convincing MacLeod that they're together. He'll be extremely confused and more than anxious to grab onto the lifeline she'll throw him."

"And, by controlling him," Austin butted in with a smile, "we can control the Game to a large extent. Who he fights and when. If ..." He chuckled. "We let him win. MacLeod is the ultimate test, people. If this works, if we can control him, then we can start implanting other immortals."

Thomas Dirk grinned as he appeared to absorb the information and its implications. "And then we can control all of them. Who wins, who loses. What about his student, though? And Dawson. They know the truth. Won't they fill MacLeod in?"

Austin frowned and took off his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. "That was our one concern. On the other hand, it's also our best test. Because all immortals have friends and usually a family of sorts, we can't wipe them all out. It will be Dr. Koch's job to keep MacLeod confused and off balance. If Pierson becomes too much of a problem, we can manipulate MacLeod into a rage and have him take his head. And the organization will take care of Dawson."

Dirk smiled wickedly and nodded his head in affirmation. "When will we release him?"

Everyone's attention reverted to the doctor. "In a couple of days. I still have him sedated at present. I'll extubate him and let him die before I remove the sedative. Then, we'll stake him to keep him dead until we can dump his body."

"Why not just dump him at home and let her --" Dirk nodded towards the female Watcher, "-- revive him?"

"Because, there has to be an explanation for his confusion and memory loss. If he wakes after being killed in unfamiliar surroundings he'll probably think it was a quickening, and it will be more believable when I 'find' him," she answered him shrewdly.

"Speaking of which, we had to get rid of his other clothes. Did you bring the doctor something to dress him in?" Austin asked her.

"Of course. I've done my part," she answered calmly.

"Well." Mike Austin shuffled the reports into his briefcase. "I guess we're set."

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan MacLeod sucked in a deep breath, wincing as pain seared through his lungs and upwards to his head. He coughed, gagging when his mouth filled with stale coagulated blood, and he began to retch until he was emptying acrid bile and blood out onto the pavement.

Once he could stand, he righted his clothes, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as the foul after taste burned his mouth and nostrils. He was trembling, his limbs weak and barely supporting his weight.

 _'Where the hell am I?'_ he thought as he looked around, trying to get his bearings. The dark, deserted alley was unfamiliar, as was the street, once he stumbled out into the dim light. He looked down at his bloodied clothes and realized that he didn't remember putting on the white silk shirt or black jeans that he was now wearing. Nor did he recognize the long black leather coat he found lying on the ground next to him when he revived.

He frowned deeply, his brow furrowed in thought. His head was throbbing painfully and it was hard to think. He didn't know where he was or what had happened to him. He didn't even remember getting up that day. But, with certainty, he knew who and what he was. It was painfully obvious that he had been in a fight and probably taken a quickening. After all, his shirt was torn and stained with blood. And, why else would he feel as agitated and unsteady as he did?

He looked at his watch, wincing as the pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was late. Very late. With a frown, he realized that Tessa would be worried about him. 'Well', he thought. 'At least she has Richie to keep her company until I get home.'

The thought of his beautiful lover brought a smile to his face, and he surveyed the almost deserted street in search of his Thunderbird. He felt a growing unease when it couldn't be found. Shivering, he put on his coat, relaxing minutely when he felt the comforting weight of his katana in its lining. Resigned, he zipped up the coat and started walking towards the pay phone he spotted on the corner.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan stepped out of the yellow cab and looked around with a deep scowl lining his face. With a worried glance, he rechecked the address on the one story brick building that he _knew_ held his and Tessa's antique business. Only, now the front glass no longer held the familiar _"Antiques -- Appraisals._ " Instead, it stood dirty and barren except for the single sign posted near the door. **"For Lease or Sale."**

"Sir, are you all right?"

The cab driver's voice broke through his reverie and he turned to look into the man's concerned face. "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied. He climbed back in the cab and sat, silently, deeply in thought.

The last clear memory he had was living on the barge with Tessa and Richie in Paris. But, when he had woken up and gone to the pay phone, the operator had informed him that he was in Seacouver, Washington. When had they returned home? And, why was their shop closed if they had come back to Seacouver? They had closed and moved their things to Paris, but they hadn't put their place up for sale. Had they? And, if they had, where were they living now?

"Sir, where should I take you?" The cab driver turned in his seat to face him.

Duncan looked at the man blankly, registered the man's ID displayed on the front dash, and forced himself to answer. John. The man's name was John.

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure," he corrected when he saw the man's frown.

"Perhaps you'd like to go home," John offered.

 _'Home?'_ Duncan thought. _This_ was home. His and Tessa's home. And Richie's. Except now it wasn't and what the hell had happened to him?

"Sir?"

He startled at the sound of the cab driver's voice. His eyes focused on the man's face, and his thoughts jolted back to the present.

"You look like you may have been mugged. Perhaps I should take you to a hospital?"

"No," Duncan snapped, then winced when he saw the other man cringe at the tone of his voice. WIth a forced smile, he softened his voice and visually forced himself to relax. "No hospital. I'm fine."

The cabby hesitated, then quirked his brow in question. "Perhaps you have a phone number in your pockets. Someone you can call for help?"

Duncan thought hard. He had tried to call Tessa when he first reached the pay phone, only to be informed by a prerecorded voice that the number was no longer in service. But, he had been so confused when he first came to that he hadn't even thought to check his pockets. Perhaps! Duncan smiled as he began digging through his pockets. Wallet, keys, cell phone. Cell phone? He flipped open the small black phone and studied it. Since when had he started carrying a cell phone? He placed the phone on the seat beside him and opened his wallet, acutely aware of the man watching him from the front seat of the car. His wallet was full of money -- $350.00, he counted silently. He pulled out his driver's license and swallowed nervously.

**Duncan MacLeod  
** **5690 East Jade Street  
** **Apt 3  
** **Seacouver, Washington  
**

********** **

_Since when?_ He looked up at the cab driver. "Well, John, it appears that I'm going to fifty-six-ninety East Jade Street."

He waited until John had turned and started the car before reaching for the cell phone. He punched in the numbers for directory assistance, and waited while the appropriate taped message played, the pen he found in his pocket ready to jot down the number. John passed him a note pad over his shoulder which he took gladly, then handed it back in disappointment when the recorded message informed him that his home number was private.

****

**~~~~~~**

Kim Lacey plopped down on Duncan's couch and picked up the phone. She punched in the numbers, feeling herself becoming increasingly more annoyed.

"Austin."

"Mike." She sighed in exasperation. "He hasn't come home yet. Are you sure someone didn't come along and take his head?"

"Of course not, my dear," Austin chided her over the phone. "We were watching him every minute. He got up, went to a pay phone and called a cab."

"Why would he call a cab? Or go to a pay phone for that matter? Mike, are you sure you dumped him in the right place?"

"Of course I am. We dumped his body in the alley behind his antique store. His SUV was still sitting in front where he left it when our people took him."

"Then why didn't he drive it home? Damn it, I'm worried."

"Well, maybe he didn't see his vehicle. After all, it's hidden in the shadows since some of the street lights are out directly in front of his shop. And, don't forget. The plan _was_ for him to experience memory loss and be confused , my dear."

"I know that," she told him irritably. "This just doesn't add up. He could have used his cell phone to call a cab. And, if he's okay, where the hell is he, then?"

"Calm down. I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he went to Dawson's bar to try and find out what's happened to him."

" _That's_ exactly what I'm afraid of, Mike. I thought we were going to keep him away from Dawson?" she reminded him icily.

"Well, that's up to you, isn't it, dear? Just don't forget the scenario. MacLeod doesn't trust Dawson and Pierson. That's why he was keeping your relationship a secret from them. They don't know anything about you. I don't know, say anything you think he'll believe. Just make sure MacLeod knows you don't want to be around them. Reassure him that he had agreed with you until he had his unfortunate ... incident. Besides, if Dawson becomes too much of a problem, we'll just eliminate him. Pierson too for that matter. In fact," his voice crooned over the phone seductively, "I'm rather looking forward to seeing if we can manipulate MacLeod into taking another immortal's head even if he really doesn't want to. I'd say Pierson will come in very handy to our little experiment. Just keep it together, Kim. Don't fall apart on us now or you'll jeopardize everything."

"I know what to do, Mike. You just keep up with your end. If he doesn't come home soon, I think I'd better start looking for him. He's vulnerable right now, and if we let another immortal take his head, all this work would have been for nothing."

"Do as you will, my dear. Just don't underestimate MacLeod. We can control him to a certain extent, but nothing is absolute and he can be a very dangerous man."

"Don't worry about me. I plan on seeing just how dangerous he _can_ be," she added with a smug grin, and hung up to the sound of his laughter. She looked at her watch and scowled. She didn't care what Austin said, if MacLeod was out there, he was a target. With one final look around the apartment, she grabbed her coat and purse, and stormed out to find the missing immortal.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan paid the driver, stepped out of the cab and looked around. Nothing. Not a single drop of recognition and he shook his head in disappointment. He had never experienced this level of confusion before with a quickening. He located the apartment that corresponded with his address, found the door locked and fished for his keys.

He stepped inside, calling his lover's name as he did. "Tessa. Tess." He stopped, waited, and felt his heart sink from the returned silence. Wasn't Tessa or Richie at home, he wondered. Surely, they weren't out looking for him, although that was likely as he wasn't sure how long he had been missing.

Damn. He had hoped Tessa would be here with a ready, albeit worried, smile and warm hug. She would help him sort out his memories and alleviate the ache in his tense muscles. He stopped and closed his eyes, allowing his lover's face to fill his mind. He could almost feel her, taste her, smell her perfume ... touch. He willed himself from his thoughts as he stepped into the room and looked around. He picked up first one object, then another, turning each piece in his hand before replacing it.

Some things were ... familiar. Some were not. Most telling was the fact that none of Tessa's unique style was evident in the room. None of her art -- her brightness -- her intelligence. He stepped into the bedroom and started opening drawers, almost frantically sorting through their contents. Underwear, socks ... then lingerie, which he stopped to stroke softly -- Tessa.

He pulled open the door to the walk in closet and stepped inside. Their clothes lined the racks. He walked through, touching, stroking, and feeling himself getting more and more agitated with every passing minute.

Tessa's clothes were all the wrong size ... made for a more petite woman. And the style was wrong. Instead of his lover's usual chic style, these were plain and cheaply made.

He stepped back into the room and sat down on the bed, looking up in surprise when he spotted the framed photograph on the bedside table. He picked it up, his mouth going dry and gaping open in shock. It was a picture of him smiling at a pretty blonde woman -- who was _not_ Tessa. He stared at it for long moments and felt the blood pounding behind his temples. Tossing the picture on the bed in disgust, he massaged the back of his neck and tried to sort out what he'd found. None of it made sense. Who was the woman in the photograph with him? And when had he and Tessa moved? Where was Richie? And where the hell was Tessa?!

He heard a thought whisper in his mind and grabbed hold of it like a lifeline. _Tessa's in Paris._

He thought hard. _Where did that come from? Richie's in Paris._ He sat still and let himself absorb the thoughts, and with certainty, knew it was true. After all, his last real memory was of the three of them together in Paris. Obviously, he had returned to Seacouver at some point without them. Why, he could not begin to fathom. All he knew for certain was that he needed to get back to Paris, then he and Tessa could work through the rest of it together.

Without reservation, he jumped up and pulled down the suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. He laid it open on the bed and returned to the closet to pull his clothes from their hangers. He was sorting and folding his clothes, placing them in his suitcase, when he was confronted with something else he could not explain.

Holding up the blue jeans, he looked at the tag in the waistband and scratched his head. The jeans were long enough, but they were much too small in the waist. These were made for a much slimmer man than himself. He threw them down on the bed and walked back into the closet. Frantically, he began sorting through the clothes, pulling out several more pairs of pants that were much too slender for his own frame. _What the hell?!_ He tossed the pants aside. This wasn't helping him. If anything, he was more confused than ever. Frustrated, he finished packing and headed for the shower.

Once clean and dressed, he grabbed his suitcase and stalked out. A summonsed taxi picked him up soon afterwards and he was on his way to the airport for his flight to Paris.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan MacLeod was not only frustrated, now he was angry. He had arrived in Paris in the early evening, rented a car and gone immediately to the Seine where his barge was docked. He had stood in front of the river for what seemed like hours -- looking across the water as if he could will his home back by concentration alone.

He let his thoughts slide back to when he was last here with Tessa -- when they were happy. The cool breeze whispered across his skin and he shivered. Closing his eyes, he willed his threatening tears to stop, knowing it was too late even before the first wet teardrop slid down his face.

He hadn't felt this out of control -- this lost -- since his first death when he was rejected and ostracized by his father. He opened his eyes and looked up at the clear night sky. The stars were bright, sparkling and so distant -- just like his memories, his life. He finally turned, shoulders slumped, and returned to his rental car. He needed to talk to Darius. Maybe the priest could tell him where Tessa and Richie were and help him fill in the missing pieces.

He drove to the church and parked. Stepping up to the gate, he paused, once again feeling the cold hand of fear and disbelief clutch at his heart. There was no immortal presence. But, Darius was always there; he never left Holy Ground. He pushed open the iron gate and went up the walkway. The doors were unlocked and he stepped inside the church and looked around, feeling some comfort that nothing had changed. It looked exactly as it had the last time he had visited Darius here.

Stunned that he couldn't feel Darius' presence, he turned to leave, only to be halted by the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned to greet the elderly priest who was coming out of the rectory.

"Mr. MacLeod." The silver haired man smiled and offered his hand in greeting.

"Father." Duncan greeted him warmly.

"What brings you here tonight?" He ushered Duncan towards the rectory.

"I need to speak with you." Duncan searched his mind, desperately trying to remember where he had met the priest before. Obviously, the priest knew who Duncan was. _And, where was Darius?_

He sat down and faced the priest. "Do I know you, Father?"

The priest's smile disappeared and he looked at Duncan in concern. "Duncan, I have ministered to you on many occasions over the years. Has something happened?"

Duncan noted the worried expression on the man's face, heard the concern in his voice, and with sickening clarity, he knew he was sincere. He swallowed nervously and clenched his hands into fists on his lap. "I don't remember," he said softly, more to himself than his audience. Perhaps it was time to finally admit defeat.

"Duncan, I am Father Harris. I took over after we lost Father Darius. Has something happened? Have you been in an accident?"

Duncan heard the words even as his vision clouded and the room turned dark and gray. His world narrowed to a tunnel in his mind with only Father Harris' face in his sight. He zeroed in on the movement of the priest's lips as he formed the words that began to shatter Duncan's life and self-control. His ears were ringing, and the words echoed, while his mind fought to shut down -- to not hear. To not comprehend. Somewhere -- somehow -- he was still functioning -- through the haze -- through the blackness that was threatening to overwhelm him.

And the words hit home: stark, naked, ugly words. Darius was dead. Tessa was dead. Even Richie was dead. Tessa and Richie were buried in Paris. He had known, he had coped. Until now, and it was too much to take or accept. He felt his throat constrict and he panicked, swallowing hard, and trying to breathe in air as he began to suffocate. Duncan was barely aware of Father Harris' shocked exclamation as he bolted from the room in blind panic, running from the church until he was outside in the cold night air.

****

**~~~~~~**

**Cemetery, Paris**

Duncan sank to his knees in front of Tessa's grave. His chest tightened as he fought to take a breath. He felt himself being washed away in a sea of tears -- some spilled and some not, but all there -- choking him, threatening to bury him alive. His heart was breaking and he didn't know how he would continue to survive. He had lost so many. He should have been used to it. Accepted it. He thought he had.

But to lose Tessa and to not even remember? To lose Darius, his friend for two hundred years? And Richie who he had thought of as a son? How did they die? Richie was pre-immortal. Who took his head? And where had Duncan been at the time? 'Why didn't I save him?' he thought to himself. Was this why he lost his memory? Had it been too much to bear for even someone as strong as himself?

He stood up on shaky legs and turned to leave. There were no answers here. Just cold, hard ground. "I love you, Tess." He choked out the words and shivered as the cool air kissed the tears on his cheeks. Hesitating, he listened until the words were lost in the thick fog encasing the cemetery.

He got back in his rental car and started the engine. He was pulling onto the main road when he saw the other car. A blue sedan. The same blue sedan that he had seen at the Seine. At the church. And now here. Following him. He was getting angry, all his fears and doubts finding a new outlet as he kept the car in his rear view mirror. _Was this the person responsible for Tessa's death? Or Darius'?_

He pulled into the hotel parking garage and got out of his car. He walked towards the lobby, then doubled back and hid behind a stone pillar leading out of the garage.

It wasn't long before the blue sedan pulled in behind him and parked. His heart was pounding as adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he tensed, ready to attack.

He heard the door slam as the sedan's driver got out. Footsteps echoed across the hard concrete of the garage as the man drew nearer. Duncan waited, his breath heavy with cold, until the man stepped around him, and he pounced, wrapping his forearm around the man's neck, effectively taking him down.

The man was struggling to kick out, but he was shorter, with less muscle mass, and he didn't have a chance. Duncan increased the pressure of his arm on the man's throat, cutting off his supply of air, and not caring. "Who are you? Why are you following me?" Duncan demanded, his voice hard and unyielding as he fought to contain his rage.

"Nobody. I wasn't following you. Let me go," the man choked out with near panic in his voice.

Duncan pinned him to the floor with his weight, easily subduing him as he continued to beg and struggle. He wasn't immortal, but still, why would someone be following him? Why now? He had a choice to make. He could either let the man go or try to beat the truth out of him. But, suddenly, he realized he was too tired -- emotionally and physically -- and he didn't have the mental strength for the conflict. With a sigh, he stood up, shoving the man away from him forcibly as he did.

"Do not follow me again," he warned before disappearing inside the building.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos stepped up to the bar and ordered a beer. He took a swallow, set it aside, and turned towards the stage with a long drawn out exhalation. Joe was finishing his set, his voice deep and searing as he sang the final chords. He set down his guitar to the sound of applause, and looked up to nod in Methos' direction.

Methos silently acknowledged the greeting and picked up his beer. A few moments later he was following the blues man back to his office. He shut the door to block out the noise, then dropped down onto a worn leather chair as Joe worked himself around his desk to pick up a file. Joe had called him, asking him to come by the bar, stating he had news about MacLeod. And, while Methos appeared calm on the outside, inside he was a jumble of nerves on fire with need -- the need to react, to move, to do _something_ besides bloody sit and wait for something else to happen.

He had, in fact, already located Duncan using his own back door into the Watcher's computer network. He had been elated when he found his lover safe in Paris -- until he had spoken with him. Now, he was waiting with thinly veiled patience for the next available flight for Paris.

"Joe?" Methos prompted. 

Joe heaved a weary sigh and sat down. "MacLeod has been spotted," he stated simply without meeting Methos' eyes.

Methos looked at him sharply. "What, Joe?"

Joe looked up and met his eyes. "We think he may have taken another dark quickening, Methos."

"Who?" Methos asked. His jaw felt so tight it might shatter.

"We don't know."

"Then ...."

Joe waved the question away before it could be voiced. "He's been missing for over a week, Methos. Then last night, he was spotted by one of our guys in Paris. Kirby. He said Mac was acting strangely. He went to the Seine and stood for over an hour -- just looking at the river as if he was in a trance. Then he followed Mac to Darius' church. Of course, Kirby had to stay out of sight, so he doesn't know exactly what went on. But, he said it wasn't long before Mac came tearing out the front door like a mad man. From there he went straight to the cemetery. A couple of hours later Mac went back to his hotel. And, here's the kicker, Methos."

"What Joe? Just spit it out," Methos urged him irritably.

"He attacked Kirby, Methos. He took him down in the garage and threatened him. Kirby said Mac was pissed as hell, and he was actually afraid for his life. And you said yourself ... He hasn't called you," Joe added more gently.

"No, he hasn't," Methos admitted, sounding much calmer than he actually felt. "And he's not answering his cell phone."

Joe pulled out a slip of paper from his folder and handed it to Methos. "Here. Room 1615."

Methos took it from him with a nod, and casually dropped it into his coat pocket. 

"Aren't you going to call him?"

A long pause and Methos knew his silence was answer enough.

"You already did. But, you knew where MacLeod was? How did you know?" Joe's asked him.

Methos leaned forward and met Joe's eyes. "I have my resources, Joe. Leave it be."

Joe slapped his folder down on the desk hard, and grunted with reproach. "You broke into Watcher files."

It wasn't a question and Methos didn't answer.

Joe snorted at his friend's silence. "Well?"

"Well what?" Methos sauntered over to the shelf that housed Joe's private stock of whiskey. He picked up two glasses and poured them both a drink.

"Did you contact MacLeod?"

Methos sat down and handed Joe a glass of Scotch. "Yeah. I did. The minute I knew where he was staying."

"Well, what happened? Is Mac coming home?"

"No, he's not, Joe." Methos breathed out heavily before recounting his last communication with the man he loved.

****

**~~~~~~**

**Two days before**

The phone was picked up almost immediately. "MacLeod."

"Mac -- Duncan." He felt a surge of relief at the sound of his lover's voice.

A long pause at the other end of the line, and a cloud of dread began settling over him once again.

The words came slow and deliberate, and Methos felt a chill run up the length of his spine. "Do you know me?"

"Duncan, it's Adam," he answered carefully. _What has happened to you, Mac?_

"I don't know anyone named Adam. Who are you?"

"Mac, we've known each other -- for years."

"I don't know who you are, or what you're playing at, but if you're looking for me, I'm not going anywhere. Just name the place and time."

"Arrogant ass," Methos muttered away from the phone. He placed the phone back to his ear. "Well, that would be rather difficult, MacLeod, since I'm in Seacouver. Perhaps you can tell me when you'll be back."

"You'll get your chance soon enough, Adam." Mac spat his name out with contempt and slammed the phone down in Methos' ear.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos winced as he recounted their phone conversation. He turned to Joe now. "He's in trouble."

"Yeah, buddy. He is," Joe agreed. "I'm having him followed, but that's all I can do right now. I don't know how he'd react if I called him."

"Tell your people to be careful, Joe. You know what he's capable of. And you might want to use someone other than the guy he's already spotted."

"Already on it. I've got someone a little more experienced. Mac will never know he's there. What are you going to do?"

"It looks like I'm going to Paris." He stood up and reached for his coat.

"Be careful, my friend."

"Always." Methos smiled.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos was almost finished packing when his cell phone rang.

"Pierson."

"When does your flight leave?" Joe Dawson's gravely voice asked him without preamble.

"In a few hours, why?"

"Cancel it. MacLeod just got on a flight heading here."

****

**~~~~~~**

**Watcher Offices  
Seacouver, Washington**

Kim Lacey was agitated. She was pacing around Mike Austin's office like a caged animal -- angry, trapped and predatory.

Austin smiled, knowing it would annoy her, and not caring one whit. On the other side of his desk, Tom Dirk was pecking on the computer keyboard as he tapped into recent Watcher reports. The dark maroon shirts the man favored did nothing to enhance his appearance, Austin decided, and turned his attention, once again, to the irritated female.

She snarled at him. "He's fucked up, Mike. Something is terribly wrong with MacLeod. What the fuck is he doing in Paris, hmm? And according to the reports --" She gestured at the computer with an angry wave of her hand. "He's acting wigged out."

"Calm down, dear. I'm sure it's not as bad as all that. All we've heard so far is that he's attacked a Watcher. Actually, that's not that unusual. Thanks to that imbecile, Dawson, MacLeod knows all about us."

"It's more than that," she retorted. "He didn't come back to his apartment right away; took off for Paris instead. That's not how we planned it."

"You're panicking for no reason," Dirk interrupted from behind the computer screen. "Maybe we miscalculated how he would react once he revived. But we expected him to be confused. It's just unfortunate that you weren't at the apartment to intercept him when he did show up."

"So, now you're blaming me?" she shrilled back at him.

"No, of course not," Mike Austin assured her. "We knew when he came to he would be unpredictable. But, nothing is lost. We just have to get you in touch with him and then we'll proceed as planned."

"And, exactly how do you propose to do that?" she demanded, standing arrogantly with a hand to her hip.

"Easier than you think." Tom Dirk grinned. "He's on his way back to Seacouver."

"And, if he doesn't come back to his place? I can't manipulate him if I can't find him."

"Easily enough. You'll just have to take a risk this time. Call him on his cell phone. You have the number. Tell the poor man how worried you've been. If you keep yourself in the tizzy you've been in this morning, I'm sure he won't have any trouble believing you," Austin informed her with an amused grin.

"Fine. As soon as he hits the airport, I'll call him. When is he due in?" She turned to Dirk.

"At eight tonight. Just do your best. I have no doubt you can pull it off. You know his history; you've read his files. Hell, you've already seen him naked."

"Enjoy yourself, Kim. I hear MacLeod's quite the lover." Austin chuckled when the female Watcher speared him with an icy glare.

"What's that idiot Koch going to be doing to control this situation?"

Austin shrugged her off. "He'll do his part, Kim. Let me worry about the good doctor. You just do yours."

As soon as she walked out the door, Austin picked up the phone. "Koch. MacLeod's due back in Seacouver at eight tonight. I want to begin this operation as planned. Yes. Exactly. Right now he's completely off balance. I want you to increase his confusion. Do whatever you have to. I don't trust Kim to pull this off, otherwise, and she has to make him believe her version of recent events. Their first meeting will be extremely critical to our plan."

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan MacLeod stepped off the plane and looked around. Seacouver. Home. He knew it was the truth. He had been to his apartment and seen his things. But how could this be home without Tess? And, who was the small blonde woman with him in the picture?

He made his way down the airline corridor, collected his luggage, and started towards a waiting taxi. His cell phone chirped as he opened the door and gave the address printed on his driver's license. Flipping open his phone, he looked at the displayed number, and frowned when he didn't recognize it.

"MacLeod."

"Duncan, thank God. I've been so worried. You've been missing and I found your Range Rover. Where have you been, love? Where are you now?" a soft female voice asked him worriedly.

"Who is this?" _The small blonde woman? And what Range Rover?_

"Duncan, it's Kim. Darling, what's wrong? Where are you?" she asked again.

"I'm on my way home. Are you saying we know each other?" His gut tightened with uncertainty.

"Duncan, you're scaring me. Why don't I come pick you up? We'll talk. It --"

"No," he interrupted her. "I've already taken a cab. Are you at ... my place?"

"I'm at home, Duncan," she said softly. "I'll be here. Hurry, darling." He heard a click followed by a dial tone.

He stared at his phone for long minutes as he tried to assimilate the call. Nothing. Mentally shaking himself, he replaced the phone back in his coat pocket. A few minutes later and he was once again in front of his apartment. He took a moment to prepare, then stepped up to the door, shocked when it flew open and a woman he didn't know ran into his arms and kissed him passionately on the lips.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan swirled the golden liquid in his glass and rubbed his eyes. How had things gotten so screwed up? He remembered nothing. He laid his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He was so tired.

He felt the couch dip with her weight and he opened his eyes. He looked down at the glass in his hand, then took a large swallow, thankful for the burn as it slid down his throat to his stomach. It felt good, the pain. It grounded him and gave him focus.

She touched his face and he jerked away, sloshing the cool liquid from his glass onto his hand. She hesitated, her hand suspended in midair for long seconds before falling back onto her lap.

"Sorry," she whispered softly before diverting her eyes to her hands.

 _Damn_. He felt like a total heel. This wasn't her fault. If what she said was true, Tessa had been dead for almost ten years -- the victim of a pointless act of violence. And Richie. Richie was dead. He had lost his head. He had evidently told her about his immortality. That was the thing that had shocked him the most. Well, after the initial shock of learning the three most important people in his life were dead.

The only woman he had ever shared his immortality with -- all that he was and had ever been -- had been Tessa. The fact that he had shared everything with Kim must mean that he loved and trusted her as much as he had Tessa. It was just that he didn't _feel_ like he loved her. And, no matter how hard he tried, he didn't feel trust. That was the problem. He didn't feel anything when he looked at her. Just horribly numb and cold inside.

He forced himself to look at her. Really look at her. She was certainly pretty enough. Small, blonde, with large blue eyes in a young, innocent face. Beautiful. But something was off. He knew himself. He knew what kind of woman he would fall in love with. Someone like Tessa, with intelligence and wit. Someone who could keep him grounded. Support him. Love him unconditionally. And, while he knew it wasn't fair, something deep inside him just couldn't see that in this woman.

He reached out and touched her hand. "Tell me again. Please," he added gently when she hesitated. She looked up shyly and squeezed his hand.

"We've been together six months. You asked me to move in with you. You told me about your immortality, Duncan." She almost sobbed on his name and he instinctively reached for her. She melted against him and he held her tighter, feeling himself soften inside. He felt something -- pity -- caring -- his protective instincts kicking in as her shoulders began to shake gently. But it wasn't love, and he knew deep inside that something was missing. He had to get his memories back in place, but until then, he would take care of her and protect her feelings.

She finally quieted and pulled away. He watched her expectantly as she dabbed at her eyes, and turned to him once again, ready to talk. "I'm a free-lance writer. You were always very supportive of my work, but since you disappeared, I haven't taken any more assignments."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened; I don't remember. Perhaps it was a quickening. I don't know. I've never had a problem with quickenings before, but I know immortals that have. I want to remember, Kim. Please believe that. I hope you'll give me time, but if you can't, I understand."

He wasn't prepared for her anger, so when she slapped him hard across the face he didn't react immediately. By the time he processed what had happened, she had stomped off towards the bedroom. To be fair, he knew he had to respect her feelings. He remembered Tessa's anger when he had suggested the same thing almost a decade before. She didn't let him get away with anything either. But, even though Tessa never held back her feelings when she was angry, she never became physically violent. Obviously, the same couldn't be said of Kim. Something to reflect on once he got his memory back.

He found Kim sitting on the bed, sulking. With a heavy sigh, he sat down and took her in his arms. She was tense and he rubbed her back soothingly. Soon she was hugging him, and he felt her anger ease away. It felt good to have someone holding him. She was soft and sweet smelling and he needed to reach out and be held in return. Her mouth was hot and moist and soft as she kissed his neck, working up to his jaw, until they were kissing passionately.

She tasted wonderful as he took control. He didn't know if it felt right, but it felt good and he needed what she was offering. When she wrapped her legs around him, he sank deep inside of her, and it didn't matter if he remembered.

****

**~~~~~~**

"Tell me, Joe." Methos' voice was icy as he leaned over the bar.

Joe ran a tired hand through his thick gray hair. "What do you want me to say, Adam? He's back, and as far as I can tell, he doesn't remember either of us. He didn't recognize your voice when you called him in Paris."

"Yeah, he hasn't called me since he's been back, either," Methos admitted as he slumped back on his bar stool with a hard exhalation.

"I ... uh ... went over to his place yesterday. I waited until he came out and he walked right past me. It's like he'd never seen me before. Look, why don't you just go over there and, you know, confront him? Tell him about you guys. Maybe you can get him to remember."

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Methos leaned over and hissed the words at him. "He's immortal and he doesn't remember me. If I confront him now, I could lose my head."

"Mac would never hurt you, Adam." 

Joe may have been trying to reassure him, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"Bet your life on that, would you?" Methos retorted, eyeing him suspiciously.

Joe shook his head and looked down at the bar. "No, I wouldn't."

"That's what I bloody well thought." With that Methos pushed away from the bar and stormed out.

Joe watched after him until the door slammed shut. He noticed a few patrons looking over at him uneasily, and he picked up his cane in annoyance. He didn't know what to do. The Watchers didn't have all the fucking answers. Maybe he should have told Methos about the woman living at Mac's apartment. The Watcher's had a surveillance team set up to follow Mac and investigate her.

But, Methos wouldn't even go see Mac and tell him the truth. Hell, maybe the old immortal was right. Mac could be volatile when pushed. At the moment, they still didn't have a clue what had happened to him. Or who the hell this woman was or what she was after. Right now the old immortal was too close to the edge, and Joe was afraid to risk it. He couldn't, wouldn't risk losing either of them.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos wrapped his arms around himself in a protective movement that did nothing to protect him against the evening chill. Or the hurt. He had lied to Joe. He had gone to confront Duncan; to remind him of how much they meant to each another. He was certain that whatever had happened to his lover could be put back to rights once he and Duncan were alone.

But he had shown up just in time to see a small blonde woman run out of Duncan's building and throw her arms around him. He had stopped dead in his tracks instantly, his words already dying a slow death in his mouth as they kissed passionately and went inside.

He had returned the next morning, only to see Duncan leave the apartment, his arm wrapped around the woman's waist. He had pulled back just in time as Duncan stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes and ears alert as he tried to scope out the immortal he was sensing. Once Methos was out of range, Duncan escorted the female to a red convertible and they had driven off together.

As soon as they had pulled away, Methos had gone up to the apartment, using his own key to let himself in. What he found hit him like a kick in the gut. Duncan's apartment was full of this woman: her things, her clothes. Methos' clothes had been pushed to the back of the closet: unneeded, unwanted. Just like him, evidently. When he found the picture of Duncan and this woman on the bedside table -- together and smiling -- he had slammed out of the apartment in anger. What a bloody fool he'd been. Duncan and this woman had obviously been seeing each other for some time. It was only later that he stopped to think past his anger. After all, he was nothing, if not pragmatic.

This wasn't the Duncan MacLeod he knew. Duncan would never go behind his back with someone else. Who was this woman anyway? She had shown up out of nowhere and suddenly she'd set up house? _No fucking way,_ he told himself. If Duncan had known this woman before he disappeared, then Methos would know who she was.

The warning bells were going off in his head. And right now there was only one word that came to mind. Watchers! But, wouldn't Duncan know if she was a Watcher? He would certainly recognize the tattoo if she had one. Why would he allow her in his home if that were the case?

He snorted to himself. _Why do you think?_ When has Duncan MacLeod ever turned down a piece of female ass? _No, don't do this,_ he chided himself. Duncan loved him. He was sure of it. And he knew with certainty that Duncan would never cheat on a lover. If he had met this woman and wanted a relationship with her, Duncan would have come to him first.

And, Duncan would never pretend not to know him. Or Joe, for that matter. No, there was something very wrong with Duncan that had nothing to do with the blonde bimbo he was screwing. Methos just had to find out what it was. It all seemed to boil down to whatever had happened the morning Duncan left to meet a client at his shop.

Which was why Methos was now sorting through Duncan's personal files in his office at the antique shop. _Damn._ He combed his fingers through his hair and looked around. Nothing. Except the fact that Duncan had obviously been working very hard to make up for lost time while in Paris. With a look of disgust, he glanced at the picture of Duncan and his new partner, which now resided on Duncan's desk. The picture of the two of them was nowhere in sight. He had already swiped a business card from the desk drawer, noting the new cell number printed at the bottom, and becoming more concerned with each new discovery. 

Methos was just making sure everything was put back to rights when the first tendrils of immortal presence touched him. His hand automatically went to the hilt of his sword and he grasped it tightly. He didn't have time to escape through the back door. Well, nothing for it. It looked like he was going to get that confrontation after all.

The front door slammed open and Methos forced himself to breath deeply and physically relax. The Highlander was framed in the doorway, his katana drawn and held ready for battle.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan Macleod," his Scottish lover announced.

Despite himself, Methos found himself smiling and rolling his eyes at his lover's formal declaration.

Duncan's eyes narrowed in warning and Methos sobered immediately. "Yes, I know that," he told his lover snidely. _If Duncan would only listen to him_.

Duncan stepped forward. "Well, you wanted me badly enough to break in. Shall we step outside to the alley?"

"Duncan, I'm not here for your head. We're friends."

Duncan straightened, but held onto his sword, and Methos had no doubt his lover's guard had not slipped. "Who are you?"

Methos hesitated, remembering their phone conversation a few days earlier. "I'm Adam. Duncan; I didn't break in. I have a key. Here." Slowly withdrawing his hand from inside his coat, he pulled out the key from his pocket and held it out. He knew he was on dangerous ground, but he couldn't fight the Highlander. He would never take his lover's head and letting Duncan take his was not an option. No, he had to count on everything he knew about Duncan's moral nature. If he refused to fight him, Duncan would let him go.

Duncan hesitated as he looked at the key. "Why would I give you a key?"

Methos smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "We're friends. I help you out sometimes. But, when I called you in Paris and you didn't know who I was, I became concerned. Duncan, that's not like you. What happened?"

Methos breathed a sigh of relief when Duncan's stance started to relax as he seemed to be weighing Methos' words in his mind. "I don't know." He looked into Methos' eyes and Methos felt his heart constrict at the pain and confusion he saw reflected back. Whatever he had thought before, Methos was certain of it now. Duncan had not taken a dark quickening. _What then?_

Methos watched Duncan closely as the man seemed to visibly deflate in front of him as he sheathed his sword and pulled off his coat. Methos followed suit by removing his own coat and following Duncan into his office. He sprawled down onto a chair while Duncan grabbed a bottle of Scotch and two glasses.

Methos observed Duncan's movements as he poured the whisky into the glasses. The man's beauty never ceased to amaze him. He had an urge to grab him and kiss him passionately -- possessively -- to remind him who he belonged to. Thankfully, that impulse was immediately squelched as he envisioned Duncan pushing him away and taking his head.

Duncan sat down at his desk and faced him. Fatigue was etched across his handsome face and Methos felt his heart tug. He forced himself to remain still, to not reach for him. But, God, he wanted to. 

"I don't know what happened. It's as if a big chunk of my life is missing, Adam. How long have we known each other?"

Methos weighed his words carefully before replying. "We met in Paris in 1996. We've been friends ever since. Duncan, what _do_ you remember?"

Duncan sighed heavily, and slumped forward, resting his forearms on his desk. "The last thing I remember, I was in Paris with my lover Tessa Noel." He stopped talking and closed his eyes, and Methos assumed he was trying to gather his thoughts before continuing. Duncan opened his eyes and looked at him. "We used to live in Seacouver. I had an antique shop here, but not this one." Duncan paused and glanced around, and Methos nodded his understanding. "I lived here with Tessa and a boy named Richie Ryan."

"And after," Methos prompted gently.

"After, I woke up in an alley a little over a week ago. I think I must have taken a quickening, except there wasn't a body. I was covered in blood, but I don't know if it was mine or someone else's. I looked for Tessa and Richie. I couldn't find them." He glanced at Methos who was listening intently.

"Why did you go to Paris?"

Duncan smiled sadly before he continued. "I couldn't find them here. I don't know." He sat back and rubbed his forehead. "My last memory was of us living on my barge in Paris, so I assumed that's where they were. I hopped a plane. But, when I got there, I couldn't find the barge. I went to Darius' church. I thought he could tell me what was going on -- where they were. But, he was gone too." His voice hitched, and Methos had to clench his hands into fists to keep from going to him, taking him in his arms, and making the pain go away.

"Duncan ...."

"It's okay, Adam." Duncan said his words slowly and deliberately. "I know they're dead. I saw their graves. Except Darius'," he added. He fell silent and Methos stood up to bring himself closer to Duncan's side.

"Darius was cremated, Duncan. You spread his ashes over the Seine, yourself." He touched Duncan's arm reassuringly and continued. "We met after you lost Tessa."

"And Richie?" Duncan looked up at him.

"No, Richie didn't die until two years later. He was immortal. He lost his head."

"He was too young."

"Yes, he was," Methos agreed. He'd be damned if he was going to tell Duncan who had killed Richie. "Is that all you remember?"

"Yeah, Kim filled in the rest when I got back."

 _Kim_. Well, that was the blonde's name. "What did she tell you?" Methos poured himself another shot of Scotch and moved away to drop down in the chair in front of Duncan's desk.

"She told me how we met and fell in love. She knows I'm immortal. I feel so damn guilty, Adam." Duncan's voice sharpened with frustration, and Methos sat up straighter in his chair. "I know I must have loved her, and I obviously trusted her to keep our secret, but, damn it, I just don't remember."

"I'm sure she understands," Methos muttered. He was beginning to feel thoroughly sick.

"She's trying to. She told me what happened to Tessa and Richie. She didn't know what happened to Darius, only that I had told her that he was dead. She didn't mention you," he added quietly. He gazed at Methos expectantly.

Methos shifted in his seat. _I bet,_ he thought to himself angrily. "Yes, well. I haven't spent a lot of time around ... Kim," he prevaricated, trying desperately, and failing, to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Duncan looked at him oddly, but he obviously decided to let it go, for which Methos was thankful. Duncan secured the shop and Methos followed him out to the parking lot. He watched Duncan slip his key into the SUV's door, and made a quick decision before the moment passed.

"Mac," he called out while opening his own car door.

Duncan turned to face him, his brow raised in question.

"Have you been to Joe's since you've been back in town?" He saw the confusion on Duncan's face and frowned.

"Joe's?"

"Our friend, Joe Dawson. He owns a blues bar. We used to hang out there quite a bit."

It was clear that Duncan was trying to place the memory, the internal struggle all too evident in his furrowed brow and deep frown. Methos knew the instant Duncan lost. The disappointment was written there plainly, and once again, Methos had to restrain himself from taking the man in his arms.

"Would you like to go with me tomorrow night?" Duncan asked him unexpectedly.

"Sure," he answered brightly and was rewarded by a smile in return.

"Eight? Here's my phone number." Duncan reached into his coat pocket.

"Eight is fine, Duncan. And, I have your number," he assured him. Methos got in his car and waited until Duncan drove off, then took out his cell and dialed Joe's number.

****

**~~~~~~**

Joe tapped his pencil against the wood grain of his office desk, smiling when he realized he was tapping out the beat to one of his favorite songs. He had long lost patience with the Watcher reports in front of him, fast becoming dissatisfied with the lack of information forthcoming from his private surveillance team. There had to be _something_ on this woman.

He glanced up at his security monitors, starting when the door opened and his two immortals entered. He closed his files and put them safely away before grabbing his cane and rising clumsily to his feet. He had been up too many hours today already and his stumps were killing him. But, there was no way he was going to leave the bar now.

The music from the main room hit him forcibly as he opened the door, and he made his way to the bar where the two immortals had taken refuge. He saw Methos watching him, and nodded at him in greeting. The old immortal smiled, and touched Mac's arm, as he turned to stand in front of them on the other side of the bar.

"Mac. Adam." He greeted them both while grabbing a beer for his own hand.

"Joe," Adam acknowledged his greeting. He turned to Mac, who was staring at Joe intently. "Mac, Joe knows about your memory loss. It's okay. We're here to help you."

"I don't remember you. I'm sorry." Mac addressed him worriedly.

Joe held his hand out cautiously. "That's okay, Mac. Joe Dawson. Welcome to my bar."

Mac smiled broadly, and shook his hand. He turned to Methos who was now smiling broadly beside him.

"Well, now that we have all the introductions out of the way, what do you say about a game of pool in the back?" Methos inclined his head toward a room down the hall.

"Sure." Mac hesitated, and glanced at Joe.

"Ah, go ahead you two. I think I'll just sit and watch. My back and stumps are killing me tonight."

Joe had noticed Mac's open appraisal of his cane, and he decided the least he could do was let Mac off the hook. "Vietnam," he told him simply. "It was a long time ago, Mac."

"I'm sorry," Mac replied softly, and grabbed both his beer and Joe's to follow the other two men to the back room.

Joe waved him away with his free hand, amused by the fact that Mac was walking point to keep other patrons from jostling him on the way. Some things never changed. Even without his memory, Mac was still the same Boy Scout. Out loud he gruffly commented, "It's old news, Mac." He sighed with relief when Mac nodded and dropped the subject.

He eased into a chair near the pool table as the two men set up. It wasn't long before they were shooting pool, their concentration interspersed with idle conversation. He watched them carefully, wondering if Methos had noticed how many times Mac had touched him during their game.

Oh, it wasn't anything overt. Just a touch to his arm, a pat to his back. But it seemed like the Highlander couldn't keep his hands off the other man. At one point he thought Methos would say something: the way Mac's hand rested on Methos' arm when they talked, his other hand freely waving in the air with his beer to exemplify whatever point he was trying to make at the moment.

Methos had stared at Mac's hand for long minutes, followed by a hard glare to his face, which seemed to do nothing to faze the Highlander. Finally, just when Joe was convinced that Methos was going to forcibly remove Duncan's hand, Mac stepped away and picked up his pool stick as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the evening went without incident, even though Joe could still feel the unresolved tension in the air between the three of them. Later they sat at the table together, enjoying a cold beer. Mac was still stealing glances at Methos' face every chance he got, which made Joe smile. _Buddy, if only you knew,_ he thought.

Finally, those dark brown eyes were fixed on him. "Is there something you want to know, Mac?" Joe asked him.

Mac nodded and set down his beer. "Adam said we were friends?"

"Yeah, we've known each other a while."

"And, you know what I am?"

Joe looked around, and satisfied that there was no one within ear shot of their conversation, answered him. "Yeah, I know what you both are."

"I wish I remembered. Damn." Mac slammed his hand down on the table, hard enough to cause all three beer bottles to jump in response. Methos grabbed for his beer, saving it from toppling over. He bristled and speared Mac with a look that had Joe laughing out loud. _Now, that was familiar,_ Joe thought. He couldn't help but wonder if MacLeod might be experiencing a little deja vu moment, himself, by the way his brows drew together as he studied them.

They left fairly early; Duncan excusing himself to go home to his female lover. Joe saw Methos bristle again, and he winced in sympathy for the other man. He knew how close Mac and Methos had been. Hell, they hadn't done anything to hide their relationship. At least not from him. And now for the old immortal to have to watch Duncan go home to someone else made him cringe in sympathy.

Joe shook Mac's hand, then pulled Methos into an uncharacteristic hug, noting with satisfaction that Mac looked slightly irritated by his display of affection. He couldn't help but wonder if Mac knew deep inside why it made him feel so uncomfortable. _Jealousy is a funny thing, Mac,_ he thought to himself. _I just wonder how long it will take you to realize that you love him._

After they left, he went to his office, pulled his most recent files, and went home. Somewhere in those records there had to be a clue. Something to tell him what had happened to Duncan MacLeod. And who this woman was that had announced herself as his lover.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan put his accounts carefully away, making sure his desk was locked for the night. He had already locked the front door, closed the blinds, and made sure the window sign was turned off to announce he was closed.

It was Saturday evening, and he had closed early so he and Adam could spar. He had evidently converted the back room into a personal gym at some point, and he made his way there now, smiling with anticipated pleasure at sparring with his friend.

He and Adam had hit it off right away, and he could fully see why they had become friends. Adam had come by the Antique Shop on numerous occasions during the past week, and Duncan had to admit he was looking forward to the afternoons when they could sit and talk over a chess game and glass of wine. He found the other man funny and witty and frighteningly charming.

He also found him disconcerting. For whatever reason, no matter how much Duncan prodded, he couldn't get Adam to open up about his own history. Oh, he seemed to know everything about Duncan's past, and he didn't mind sharing stories about things they had done in the past together.

When asked, Kim had told him that Adam used to be his student, but she couldn't give him any specifics. But, something was just -- off. He noticed it that first night when they had gone to Joe's. It wasn't anything Duncan could put his finger on, but there was an aura about the man that was in total opposition to the quiet new immortal he was getting to know.

For one thing, the man's quickening energy was much too strong, too raw and powerful to belong to a young immortal. And there was something about his eyes--the way they changed color with his emotions and the way they narrowed when he was agitated -- that made Duncan suck in a deep breath as his skin prickled with cold, and heat flooded his groin.

He had stared frequently at the man during that first evening, and while he had noticed Joe's knowing glances in his direction, he still couldn't seem to stop. He would see a gesture, hear an inflection in Adam's voice and his mind would rage at him to look again, and he would, trying desperately to pull out a memory, only to feel it flutter away before he could grasp it.

Kicking off his shoes and socks, he drew his pants down his legs, and reached for his gi pants. He had just tied the waist when he felt the first waves of Adam's immortal buzz wash over him. The front door opened and he called out. "Back here, Adam."

He grinned knowingly when the other man sauntered in with a sarcastic retort. "MacLeod, you didn't know that was me. Someday you're going to be too trusting and someone will take your head."

"Yeah, but ...." He picked up his katana and placed the point against Adam's heart. "Not today, my friend."

"Right, well ...." Adam stepped back and threw off his coat, using the distraction to liberate his Ivanhoe. He lunged, taking Duncan by surprise. Duncan recovered immediately, parried, and went on the offensive by lunging forward and striking overhead. Methos countered with a string of defensive strikes, dancing out towards the center of the room, and taking Duncan with him. They continued, sweaty and out of breath, as their blades clashed, casting a sound of melodic metal upon metal throughout the room.

Duncan grinned ferally as he eyed the man across his blade. "You give?"

Adam snorted. "Not bloody likely, Highlander."

Duncan laughed, which produced a snort in response. He was feeling exhilarated, and once again wondered how old the man in front of him really was. He had always loved sparring with another skilled immortal, each learning from the other without the threat of losing their heads. And this had been no exception. In fact, it had been more.

He cursed, chastising himself, when his private musings cost him a slash to his thigh. He felt the blood trickle down his leg, and ignored it, knowing the wound was already mending.

Across from him Adam grinned. "Whoops."

Duncan laughed and charged at him. "I'll show you whoops," he growled. That met only laughter and he continued to charge until he had the other man pinned against the far wall.

"Give now?" Duncan breathed into Adam's face.

Duncan's chest was heaving with ragged breaths while his sweat soaked skin pressed against Adam's. He felt the smooth muscles of the man against him, his chest also rising and falling heavily. The smell of masculine sweat filled his nostrils to mix with the faint lingering smell of aftershave from them both. Duncan felt a rush as his blood coursed through his veins and settled in his groin. His cock was swelling in his pants, and he instinctively pressed closer, growling deep in his throat when he felt an answering arousal from the other man.

No one spoke as their breaths mated in the air between them. Duncan could almost hear the pounding of their hearts beating in synch to the thrumming of his cock.

Then, just as quickly, the spell was shattered when the phone rang shrilly from the other room. Duncan took several slow deep breaths as a slow smile caressed Adam's lips.

"That would be for you," he whispered, so close that his lips brushed against Duncan's when he spoke.

With difficulty, Duncan exerted his self control and lowered his sword, pushing away from the wall and the other man at the same time. "Aye. I guess it is." He turned abruptly and left the room to answer the demanding phone.

"MacLeod."

"Duncan, you're late." He could hear the pout in Kim's voice and winced.

"Sorry, I had a spar set up with Adam. I thought I told you this morning," he informed her, a frown now replacing his earlier laughter.

"No, you didn't." Her tone turned icy, and he tensed in response. "We had plans, remember? I'm sure Adam can spar with you another day."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adam slipping on his coat to leave. He tried to motion to him -- to ask him to wait -- but the other man only walked away.

Duncan pulled the phone away from his mouth and called out in frustration. "Adam, wait."

Adam turned to look at him and Duncan swallowed hard. There was something in Adam's eyes that spoke of disappointment and pain, and it tightened something in Duncan's chest. "Adam ...."

"Later, MacLeod." The words were simple, over-loud in the quiet of the room, and then he was gone, the door slamming hard behind him.

He put the receiver back to his mouth and spoke, not caring that his voice sounded as flat and empty as he felt. "I'll be home in a few minutes," he told her and hung up the phone, his eyes still watching the door the other man had just passed through.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan entered his apartment, trying hard to bank his anger towards his mortal lover. Kim met him at the door with a scowl on her face, which did absolutely nothing to cool his rising temper.

She stopped in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, and he realized he didn't want to talk to her, much less fight with her. Unfortunately, she had other ideas. He pushed silently past her on his way to the bathroom as she began to talk. It wasn't that he wanted to ignore her, he told himself. He just needed some time. Time to step under the hot water and sort out his thoughts. Time to wash away the memory of the pain he saw in his friend's eyes.

He knew at some point he would have to examine what that pain meant, and why he felt an answering emotion within himself, but not tonight. Not until he could work through his memories. Not until he could figure out who these people were and what they had meant to his life. Until he could figure out who Duncan MacLeod was in this new place--living this new life that he did not recognize as his own.

"Duncan."

Her voice was grating, raking across his nerves like chalk on a blackboard, and he stopped, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to control his anger.

"What?"

"We need to talk," she informed him icily.

He silently counted to ten, then took several slow deep breaths until he felt calm enough to respond. "I'm tired and sweaty, and I'm going to take a shower. If you've calmed down, then we'll talk."

He resumed walking to the shower, unmindful of the consequences of his words, until he felt her fists pound at his back and shoulders, followed by an angry flurry of words.

"Damn you. Don't you dare walk away from me. Calm down? Calm down?" She was yelling, her fists flailing at his back. He turned and grabbed her wrists hard, holding them out and away from his body. Her face was flushed with her rage, and he had to look away to keep his own anger in check.

Mentally, he found himself comparing her to Tessa. He remembered the few times that one or the other of them had disappointed or made the other angry. The hurt feelings, the words that wounded. He saw Tessa's face in his mind as she threw up her hands in hurt and anger.

> >   
>  _"Damn you. Damn your gathering. Damn your whole race."  
>  _
>
>>   
>  _"I'm not your enemy, you know."_  
> 

And he had taken her in his arms. He could almost feel her softness against his body now, her shoulders shaking gently with her sobs, the sweet smell of her hair on his shoulder. The tears and pain in her eyes.

> >   
>  _"I never knew it could hurt so much."_  
> 

He looked into the angry face of his present lover and the pieces clicked into place in his mind. There were no tears. She wasn't hurt and disappointed. She was just pissed. _And no love,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He pushed the doubts away stubbornly. No! He had loved her. They were together. He had trusted her. She needed time too. Time for her to overcome her fear after he had disappeared. Time for them to rebuild their relationship. Time for him to remember how much he loved her. A breath and then another, and he gentled his voice.

"Kim, I'm sorry. I just want a shower and then we'll talk," he told her flatly.

Her anger appeared to ebb away, and she nodded in agreement as he let go of her wrists.

He stepped into the shower amidst a flood of thoughts and emotions so overwhelming that they threatened to overtake him. He adjusted the shower spray, and stepped under the hot water, letting it slide over his head. Closing his eyes, he felt the glide of soothing water slide down his face, mingling with his own tears that he couldn't seem to stop.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan put on a pair of silk pajama bottoms and slipped into bed, purposely turning his back to her side. He heard her enter the room and closed his eyes, hoping she would think he was already falling asleep. He was drained both physically and emotionally, and he was in no mood for their continued discussion tonight.

Unfortunately, she didn't believe he was asleep, or she didn't care, because she came to his side of the bed and yanked the covers down. He felt the chill hit his skin and growled in frustration.

"Duncan, you said we'd talk when you got out of the shower."

He opened his eyes and glared at her. She was standing by the bed, hands on hips, and while she didn't look as angry as she had been earlier, she still appeared annoyed.

"We will talk about this later," he assured her tiredly.

"No. We will talk about it now. You've been spending too much time with Adam, and I don't like it. I want you to stop seeing him."

"Like bloody hell, I will." He jumped out of bed, and stormed into the living room towards his supply of liquor, well aware that she was fast behind him.

"Duncan, he's a user. You just don't remember, but you used to feel the same way."

He took a large swallow of whiskey, almost choking as it collected in his throat before he could slide it past his frustration. He slammed the glass down on the table and turned to her angrily.

"I don't believe you. Adam is my friend. I may not remember everything, but this is the one thing I'm sure about."

"Bullshit!"

He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice dangerously. "Explain yourself. Now."

She swallowed nervously several times before she answered. And when she did begin to talk, her voice had lost its edge.

"Duncan, Adam was your student. But he was using you to protect him. Using your money and influence. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this now, but you knew it before you lost your memory and you had already cut him from your life."

 _I don't believe you._ The words were already forming in his mind before she finished, but he kept them silent as he assessed her.

Instead, he cupped her face gently. "I can't talk about this right now. I'm going to bed." He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips, leaving her standing alone as he crawled back into bed to wrestle with this new information.

****

**~~~~~~**

**Watcher Offices  
Seacouver**

Tom Dirk picked up the ringing phone and motioned to the other two men in the room.

He mouthed a name when Mike Austin looked up, his brow quirked to match the sardonic grin on his face. 

"Speaker," Austin directed. Pushing aside the daily report, he sat back to listen.

Dirk punched a button and hung up the phone, immediately informing his caller that their conversation was now public.

"Fine. Who's there?" Kim Lacey's voice came over the line loud and clear.

"Go ahead, Kim. Dr. Koch is here as well," Austin informed her in a steady voice.

"It's fucking falling apart, Austin."

Mike Austin breathed out hard and met Dirk's gaze. He shook his head calmly. _Let me handle this_.

"Kim, calm down and tell us what's happened," he ordered her.

"Don't patronize me, asshole," she warned him.

Tom Dirk snickered, while Dr. Koch covered his mouth to hide his own amusement.

"Get to your point," Austin rebuked her impatiently.

"It's Pierson. I can't keep MacLeod away from him and it's falling apart. Nothing is working the way it was supposed to. He hasn't opened up to me, and he guards his accounts like Fort Knox. Koch was supposed to be controlling MacLeod. What the fuck is going on?"

Austin glanced at the doctor who had sobered substantially while she talked.

"Doctor?"

Koch leaned forward and spoke towards the phone. "Nothing is going on, Kim. We told you he would be confused, and we didn't want to add to that until you could get everything set up and in place for us. We're purposely holding back with MacLeod right now."

"What the fuck for?" she demanded sharply. All three men grimaced." 

"That's enough, Kim," Austin snapped at her. "I assure you we have everything under control."

A long sigh over the line and her voice softened. "How?"

Austin winked at Dirk. "Here's what we want you to do, Kim. Make up with MacLeod. I don't care what it takes. Fuck his brains out. Blow him. Just do it. Once you have him where you want him, I want you to tell him a little story."

"Such as?"

Dirk watched his partner shift back in his seat, relaxed, with a sly grin on his face, as he instructed her. "I want you to tell MacLeod that Pierson made a pass at you. Hell, tell him he tried to rape you. I don't care. Koch will increase the stimulation from the disk. Once the disk starts to feed his brain with electrical impulses, that will stimulate his brain into releasing the neurotransmitters. Once that is accomplished, we will effectively be able to increase his confusion and drive his rage. He won't be able to stop himself."

"You want me to push him to kill Pierson?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course not." Austin snorted. "That's the whole point. We want to manipulate him by using the electrical impulses. He has to think it's his own thoughts and rage driving his actions. That's the only way we'll be able to control the immortals. You just plant the information in his head. Let us control the rest."

"I don't ...." She sounded doubtful.

"It will work," Austin told her, signaling Dirk to hang up, which he did with a press of his finger.

Dirk studied the two men across the room. Koch was looking uncomfortable while Austin just looked irritatingly smug.

"What are you not telling her?" Dirk asked suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes when Koch squirmed and waited for Austin to answer.

Austin shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Well, there is a little bit more to it. Koch, why don't you fill our friend in?"

Koch shifted into a more comfortable position and smiled. "We were telling the truth about the disc and neurotransmitters. But, there was ... a bit ... more.

"More?" Dirk looked from one man to the other.

"We planted subconscious suggestions in MacLeod's mind. The entire time he was here. We had implanted the disc and programmed him using our own synthetic chemicals and ... shock therapy ... to induce specific subconscious responses."

"Which are?" Dirk quirked a brow, shivering slightly when a cold chill fell over his skin.

"What they're already programmed for." Austin shrugged. "To kill. That was the point, wasn't it? To control the game by controlling who they kill ... or," he drew the word out with a grin, "who we let kill them."

"And, we want him to kill Pierson," Dirk guessed.

"I think we have to. We don't know his real history with Pierson. We know they were friends, but Dawson kept the specifics out of MacLeod's chronicles. He's a live wire. That can lead to complications. So, what better way to get rid of him than to let his own friend, Duncan MacLeod, take his head?"

"Isn't that taking a hell of a risk?" Dirk asked.

Koch shook his head. "He took Ryan's head. And he's been very confused lately. Add in the problems with his recent memory loss and the risk is minimal."

"They'll just think MacLeod's lost it again. Especially when he kills his own Watcher." Austin grinned.

Dirk smiled in turn at the thought of Joe Dawson's untimely demise. It was about time that sorry bastard got what was coming to him. Because of Dawson, immortals knew about Watchers. And there were other Watchers, like Dawson, who believed immortals were human. Watchers who were as much a threat to the human race as immortals.

Austin turned to the doctor and dismissed him. "Koch, Tom and I need to have a private conference. Give us a moment, will you?"

Dirk watched as Koch nodded and stood to leave, throwing him a questioning glance as he passed by to the door.

"Well?" he asked Austin once they were alone.

Austin stood up and moved closer. "I just don't like involving the good doctor with all the tedious details. In fact, it's the programming that we're actually monitoring. You see, the disk not only emits short bursts of electrical energy, we also have it programmed to give a greater shock. One that MacLeod has been programmed to respond to with specific types of behaviors. And only the master computer controls which type of energy will be released. Koch is aware of that, of course. We could hardly keep him completely in the dark since he's such an integral part of the process. But, the specifics of who we control MacLeod to kill ... well." He shrugged and sat down again.

"Who?" 

"Well, let's just say that our charming Miss Lacey could become a real liability if she were to fall into the wrong hands."

Dirk stopped smiling and furrowed his brow in obvious puzzlement. "What about the remote device? Can't she just kill MacLeod if he goes after her?"

Mike Austin howled. "Oh, come on, Tom. You didn't buy that, did you? There's no such thing. Koch simply rigged up a fake device in order to give Lacey a false sense of security. She had refused to get that close to MacLeod unless we could guarantee her safety."

Thomas Dirk's expression changed from shocked disbelief to smug amusement in a flash of seconds. "Christ." The red headed man tried to stifle a laugh, but soon the two men's laughter was echoing in the small room.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan stepped inside his apartment and looked around. He had left early that morning, purposely leaving his mortal lover sleeping. They had both gone to bed angry the night before and he'd had no desire to rekindle the argument that morning.

He had kept the antique shop open an hour later than usual, but he'd known that he would eventually have to call on his courage and go home. He was prepared for a verbal attack the moment he entered, and pleasantly surprised when that didn't happen.

He certainly hadn't expected the sight that greeted him now, as his lover stepped out of their bedroom wearing nothing but a lacy red teddy and matching stilettos.

His cock began to fill and he smiled. Slipping off his coat, he laid it aside and walked into the room, meeting his lover mid-way. She looked up at him through thick lashes and smiled.

"I'm sorry. I was ...."

A gentle kiss to her lips stopped the flow of words.

"It's all right. I'm sorry too, Kim."

He took her lips in a kiss that soon turned searing and passionate. She tasted sweet and hot as their tongues slid together, and he reached down and picked her up in his arms to carry her into the bedroom.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan slid down her body, gently spreading and opening her thighs with his hands. He kissed a path down her stomach, sucking and nipping her tender flesh as he breathed in her own unique scent. She was moaning, and he held onto her tightly while her hips tilted in a slow undulation towards his mouth.

He lifted his head and watched her, feeling his cock throb and pulse, as her wet heat beckoned him. He grinned, then ducked his head between her legs, darting out his tongue to taste her. She bucked and whimpered softly with the first touch of his tongue on her vulva. Encouraged, he let go of her thighs with one hand and gently spread her labia. He used his tongue to taste her inside and out, then gently inserted a finger and stroked while starting a rhythmic motion of his tongue on her clit.

She was moaning loudly now, a sweet song of need, and he closed off his mind to everything except her taste and smell and sound. He was so completely lost in sensation that he didn't notice when her moans turned dark and husky in a flash of heat and memory, and he had to pause and blink to reestablish his reality.

She was writhing from his attentions and, satisfied, he returned to her pleasure. His tongue lapped at her tender bud, now hardened to the peak of climax. He began to gently suck it between his lips, then froze, as an image of a thick cock flashed across his mind so strongly that he could feel it hard and demanding on his tongue. He stroked and sucked, feeling the head slide towards his throat. Instead of the sweet tang of Kim's sex, his nostrils breathed in the husky scent of male musk.

Instead of Kim's wet folds, his tongue found the engorged vein running underneath his lover's distended shaft. He circled the head with his tongue, darting it into the slit to rescue the first drops of his lover's come as the pulsating shaft swelled and hardened to almost impossible proportions, before his mouth was flooded with the salty sweetness of his lover's climax. Duncan drank in greedily, swallowing deeply, as his throat rippled across the swollen head of his lover's cock.

A sharp tug of his hair brought him back to reality as a very female voice begged him to stop.

"God, Duncan. Stop. I can't take anymore." Kim laughed, her breaths labored and husky from her climax. He took a deep breath and did a quick mental inventory of his surroundings. Satisfied, he laid down beside her and took her in him arms. When she wrapped her hand around his cock and started placing light sucking kisses across his chest, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the pleasure. This time he wasn't surprised when he felt her mouth become firmer against his skin, her hands larger and stronger, and male stubble scraped across his skin with every kiss. Strong sculpted muscles pressed and glided against him as his cock was taken in a sure grip and stroked to orgasm.

He stroked her hair gently, his body sated and relaxed after a shattering climax. He knew he should be worried about the visions, but right now he couldn't be bothered. They had felt so good, so right. He just wanted to sleep, and if the visions were reflections from his own memories, so be it. The fact that he was fantasizing about a man did not bother him. He had several male lovers over the years. And there was no reason to tell Kim that he was thinking of someone else, even someone faceless and nameless, while he was making love to her.

"I'm really sorry, Duncan." Her breath whispered across his chest where she had laid her head.

"Shhh." He gentled her apology.

"No." She shifted her body to look at his face. "I didn't want to have to tell you this, but now I think I need to because you may not remember on your own."

He frowned at her in concern. "Tell me what, Kim?"

"It's about Adam," she answered softly.

He tensed as she stroked his chest. "What about Adam?"

"Duncan, the reason ... the reason you stopped being his friend was because he tried to rape me."

"No." He shook his head in disbelief. "No." He pushed her away.

"Duncan, I'm sorry, but it's true," she continued tearfully. "He came by one day when you weren't here. And he made a pass at me. When I turned him down, he became enraged. And he attacked me. And ...."

Duncan heard her flurry of words, tried to deny her claims, but the words had become disjointed and no longer comprehensible. From somewhere deep inside, he felt a rage building, while his thoughts were spinning out of control to become a jumbled knot he could no longer unravel.

He flung himself out of bed -- needing to get away -- to work off the excess energy that was thrumming through his body. And through all the rage and confusion, only one thing came into focus. Kim's sweet voice saying, _Adam tried to rape me._ He slammed out of the apartment with only one goal in mind.

_Kill Adam._

****

**~~~~~~**

Kim wrapped the covers around her body and laid back with a satisfied sigh. For once everything was going per plan and she couldn't be happier. For once ....

She closed her eyes and drifted back to another night ....

> _"Kim."_
> 
> _Kim gazed at James Horton's face. She still couldn't believe she was here. In his bed. In his arms. The married Watcher was one of the most important men in the Organization. And he wanted her._
> 
> _"Why do you hate immortals so much?" His voice was quiet and smooth as silk as he nestled her head on his shoulder._
> 
> _She felt the tears flood her eyes, and sniffed them back when his arms tightened around her. Her voice was tiny and strained when she tried to speak. But he waited patiently while she sobbed out her story._
> 
> _"My sister, Jan, was in love with an immortal. Charlie Dickson. That's how I found out about them." She hesitated and snuggled closer. "And the Watchers," she added._
> 
> _"She told you?" James sounded surprised._
> 
> _"No. I didn't know until ...." She sobbed and buried her head against his chest until the moment passed and she could speak again._
> 
> _"I followed them one evening -- on a date. I was just a kid, you know. And Charlie was different somehow. Older. More worldly. But the last thing Jan wanted was her little sister tagging along. So, I followed and kept hidden. They didn't know. A female immortal -- I found out later it was Viki Harper. She confronted them, and said she was in love with Charlie. He told her that he loved Jan and if she didn't leave he would challenge her."_
> 
> _The grief was welling up inside her and she stopped talking, waiting for the sharpness of the pain to subside._
> 
> _"What happened?" James' voice broke through the silence._
> 
> _"She left and waited until she could catch Jan alone and defenseless. One evening, about a week later, she followed Jan home from work and killed her."_
> 
> _"Ah. So you see how they are all killers."_
> 
> _"Charlie wasn't. He loved Jan."_
> 
> _"They all are, Kim. Charlie knew what his ex-lover was capable of. He let her kill your sister. You'll see. They're all sick. A mistake of nature. And we must rid the world of them."_
> 
> _A frission of fear went up her spine as his tone changed to a sharp-knifed edge. She tensed and pulled away._
> 
> _Calmly, he took her back into his arms, gentling his voice as he whispered against her ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. But you'll see. You'll see."_

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos parked in front of Joe's bar and turned off his car. He sat there for several minutes, staring at the plain wooden door while his mind churned in turmoil. _This had been the worst two bloody weeks of his life,_ he thought acidly. Oh, it had started out well enough. It had started with plans for the weekend.

He made a nice dinner Friday night. Duncan came over, and their dinner turned into a naked picnic on a large blanket in the middle of the living room. Before it was over, they were licking more food off one another than they had on their plates. He smiled as he remembered tonguing sauce from Duncan's nipples, the little brown nubs hardening under his mouth. Duncan had dribbled melted butter down Methos' stomach, lapping it into his mouth like a cat as it raced down to Methos' groin. Then came dessert, and Methos laughed to himself, remembering how Duncan had jumped when Methos pressed the whip cream nozzle close to his anus, squirting a generous amount on and around the little orifice, before Methos' tongue began working on the hot hole to lick and suck out every drop.

He thought of his lover under him, hot and writhing, and moaning his name in his passion. His cock quivered in his pants and he growled in frustration.

"Damn it," he barked the words out, and slammed his hand down hard on the steering column. What the fuck happened?

Lying his head back on the head-rest, he closed his eyes and tried to sort through the events once again. Everything was fine until Duncan received the phone call that morning as they were eating breakfast. Now Duncan didn't remember their time together. Hell, Duncan didn't remember anything after the time he lived with Tessa. And, what the hell did _that_ mean?

His first instinct had been to storm in, tell Duncan the truth, and intimidate _that woman_ into telling them what was going on. But, after seeing Duncan, and realizing how fragile his memories were, Methos quickly realized that was not an option. According to Joe, Duncan had been furious when he first found out about the Watchers. It had taken Joe a long time to build up the trust he had with Duncan. So, how would Duncan handle it now? That Watchers had killed Darius? To find out he had killed Richie, himself? _To find out about the Horsemen?_

No. Something had happened to Duncan, and until they could figure out what that was, they couldn't force those memories on him. Not when they didn't know how he would react, or who else was involved.

Methos sat up and opened his eyes when a car door slammed shut close by. The last of the bar's patrons were getting into their cars to pull away from the now otherwise empty parking lot. He really should go in. Joe was expecting him. But Joe would want answers, and that was the one thing he still didn't have.

Hell, Methos knew he should confront her, and find out for himself what she was up to. He wasn't stupid, after all. This entire mess screamed 'Watchers'. And, while his protective instincts were pushing him to rush in and get his lover away, his more practical side was holding him still until he knew exactly who or what was involved. Until then he simply couldn't risk the consequences.

Not to mention the fact that she knew what he was, and how to kill him. No, he would have to tread carefully until he knew exactly what was going on. And, knowing the Highlander as well as he did, the more Methos attacked her, the more Duncan would protect her. And quite frankly, if he were being honest with himself, as painful as that was, he knew his own heart couldn't take that.

He had tried spying on them. But, seeing them together had almost killed him, watching them when they went out to eat, holding hands. The way she leaned towards him intimately when they talked. The way he looked at her. God. He combed his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes tightly. It had taken him all night to get those images out of his head. All night imagining them at home, making love. Duncan touching her, fucking her. He had finally stormed into the bath, turned the water up as hot as he could stand, and lost himself in the comforting spray. He had jerked off later, in bed, miserable and alone, while trying to forget that Duncan MacLeod was a few blocks away with someone else.

The fact was, he needed to stay away from Mac, but he At first, he just couldn't do it. The pain was too much, and all he wanted to do was take the man in his arms and tell him the truth.

He shook his head. Oh yes, he could see it now.

_Hi Mac. I know you don't remember me, but I'm really the legendary Methos and we were lovers. I don't know who the slut is in your apartment. I've never seen her before, but I think it may be some nefarious plot. I'm not sure what she wants, but she may be a Watcher. A Watcher, Mac. You know, the organization that spies on immortals. They killed Darius. I used to be one. I used to be a Horseman of the Apocalypse too, but you got over that. Yes, we were screwing every chance we got._

That would go over really well. He would laugh if it weren't so damn tragic. 

"Hey, you going to sit out here all day? I thought you were going to help me go through some records."

Joe's gruff voice caught his attention, and Methos rolled down his window to acknowledge his presence. _How long had Joe been standing there?_

"Yeah, Joe. I'm coming." He got out of the car and followed the Watcher back into the bar.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan screeched to a stop outside Joe's Blues Bar. Rage was bubbling inside of him from some unknown source, and even though a small part of his mind recognized that it was unreasonable, he couldn't fight it. It was driving him, consuming his every thought and action.

He had gone to Adam's apartment first, banging on the door in frustration when he didn't feel the other man's presence. He knew no one was at home, of course, but it had felt good to slam his fist against the wooden door. The pain had fed his anger, fueled his resolve, and he no longer cared that he was without thought or reason.

He had his sword unsheathed before he slammed open the front door of the bar.

Joe Dawson was leaning behind the counter, counting bottles of liquor he had taken from his stock and lined up on the bar. Adam Pierson was sprawled across a bar stool casually sipping a beer. And the sight of that careless unconcern spiraled his hate. 

"Duncan?" Adam's eyes were wide with shock as Duncan lunged at him, slicing through the air with his sword. His katana came a hair's breadth away from taking Adam's head, missing only due to Adam's quick reflexes as he ducked and rolled, grabbing his own sword from his coat as he did.

"MacLeod!" Adam yelled, bringing his sword up just in time to deflect another blow, as metal clashed, and chairs were thrown haphazardly out of the way.

"Mac! Fuck!" Joe yelled.

Duncan heard Dawson's panicked voice from the sidelines, and swerved on the balls of his feet to face him with the point of his sword. "You can't interfere, Dawson."

Joe threw up his hands in surrender, and out of the corner of his eye, Duncan saw Adam maneuver to his left side with the Ivanhoe.

Duncan turned, and parried, easily deflecting the blow, then advanced once again in a flurry of offensive strikes. The blood was pounding in his head as he lunged, and he hit hard, grinning wickedly when he felt his sword connect with flesh and muscle.

He disengaged, and swung again in a downward arc, this time connecting with steel, jarring his arm. Dancing backwards, he parried, lunged, and in a series of swift strokes, he had Adam trapped against the wall. He looked into the man's face, saw the look of disbelief in his eyes, and felt unnaturally elated.

As if in slow motion, he swung, his blow deflected by an upward parry by the Ivanhoe. Another strike, and the Ivanhoe was falling to the ground. Fresh blood soaked through the front of Adam's sweater, and he cried out in pain as he fell to his knees.

From somewhere behind him, Duncan heard Joe's voice, knew he was being warned, but he didn't care. His thoughts were still swirling and he blinked hard, trying to clear his head.

He looked down at the man kneeling before him, a thin trickle of blood sliding down his neck from where the katana was biting into his flesh. The voices were whispering to him, telling him to take Adam's head, and he had no thought except to obey as he swung the katana high over his head.

With all his strength, he brought the blade down, heard it whistle through the air -- then stopped abruptly, the blade hovering a heartbeat away from Adam's vulnerable throat.

He froze, suspended in a fraction of time, his heart racing, as he looked into Adam's face. Duncan stood there long minutes, his blade just barely grazing Adam's sensitive skin, scraping his Adam's apple as it bobbed with every nervous swallow.

Their raspy breaths were over loud in the silence, mingling only with the tap, tap of Joe's cane as he came closer, and the soft sighs and gasps between them as Joe hovered in anticipation. Duncan heard the click of a gun behind him, and not caring, as he both acknowledged and discarded the fact that Joe had a weapon fixed on him.

Duncan blinked again, trying to clear the fog as one reality faded into another, and visions replaced the scene in front of him. Suddenly, he was no longer in the bar. 

> _**The tunnel under the Pont Tournelle**_
> 
> A dark cloud engulfed them, and he could feel the cold air nip at his skin. He was breathing hard from the rush of battle, his sword resting against the tender throat -- Adam's head thrown back, his eyes closed tightly as he waited for the final stroke.
> 
> _"What are you waiting for, MacLeod?" Adam asked._
> 
> _"No!" he shouted, removing his sword from the other man's neck, and he was no longer there; the moment already gone._

Duncan pressed harder against Adam's throat, heard the sharp intake of breath, and looked down into Adam's face. He gazed into his eyes, now dark green and bathed with sadness. Duncan opened his mouth to speak, then lost all sense of time and place as he was once again removed from the bar.

> **_The dojo - Seacouver_ **
> 
> Adam was on his knees, looking up at him as Duncan's katana rested against his neck. Duncan was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with exertion. The air was prickling with tension, and he looked into Adam's eyes, saw naked desire, and felt his groin stir in response. He swallowed hard and leaned forward towards Adam's lips. Closer -- their mouths almost touching.

And then he was back, slammed painfully into reality. He took long deep breaths, smelled his own sweat, and shivered as it cooled on his skin. Looking down at the man before him, he felt his mind flood with emotion. Suddenly, it was too much, and he roared, throwing his blade across the floor, letting all his anger, frustration and confusion loose with his outrage.

Duncan bolted, turning sharply to run from the bar, stopping only to retrieve his Katana as he fled. He was barely aware of the tables or chairs he stumbled over, or the man he bumped into as he ran past. If he had been aware, he would have seen Joe nearly topple as he grabbed a table for support, his cane held in one hand, and his gun in the other. On the other side of the room, the other immortal slid to the floor in relief, his face a reflection of Duncan's own pain.

~~~~~~

Kim Lacey stormed into the lab at the Watcher's Headquarters. She was fuming, her head was pounding, and nothing had gone as planned. She saw the three male Watchers look up from their reports as she entered, and immediately started berating them.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, directing her question to all three men.

Mike Austin straightened to his full height and regarded her coolly. "Calm down, Kim. You're out of control."

"Calm down? You son of a bitch. He fucked up." She looked pointedly at Dr. Koch, who glared at her in turn. Secretly she was pleased. If he was offended, all the better. 

"You heard me, Lacey. Calm down, Lacey. Otherwise, Dirk will have to escort you out. Now, I'm sure whatever is wrong, we can fix it. But, not like this. Understand?"

Austin's tone had turned hard, and she took a deep breath to cool her own temper.

"Fine," she grated between clenched teeth. Sitting down, she took a few moments to collect herself before addressing the overly calm men once again.

"Something is wrong. " She looked from one man to the other. "The doctor ...." She said, emphasizing the word _doctor_ in quotation marks. " ... screwed up."

Dr. Koch narrowed his eyes and met her gaze. "Why do you say that? Maybe you're the one who fucked up."

"I did everything I was supposed to," she informed him coolly.

"Okay, that's enough," Dirk interjected.

"Quite right," Austin stood up, and moved to the empty chair beside her. He took her hand. "Now tell me what's wrong."

She took a deep breath to calm herself. "You said he would have some memory loss going back a few months. But, he doesn't remember anything from the last decade." She glared again at the doctor, surprised when he didn't turn away from her obvious scrutiny. _Maybe he had grown a pair since her last visit._

"Yes, we're aware of that. And, actually that's fine. If anything, that should have made everything easier for you. But, yes, that was one of the things Dr. Koch was testing with this case." Mike Austin let go of her hand and returned to his prior seat.

"We knew everything wouldn't go exactly as planned with MacLeod, and we had already made provisions for that," Dr. Koch reminded her. "I'll adjust my tests for our next case."

"The point is," Austin continued, "that MacLeod has some memory loss. The other is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?" she asked incredulously. "He's a nut case. When I told him about Pierson, he went ballistic and stormed out."

"Well, that was the plan, Kim. We wanted him to kill Pierson." Austin dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand.

"You don't understand, Mike. He wasn't mad. He was crazy. I've never seen anyone with that look in his eyes before."

"He's immortal. They're inbred killers. You know that," Dirk admonished her.

"Precisely," Austin agreed.

She studied each man, noting Austin's coolness, Dirk's smugness, and Koch's false bravado. _Those fucking bastards,_ she thought to herself. They had known MacLeod would lose it, and purposely put her in danger with a crazed immortal. She narrowed her eyes, not missing the amused twitch of Austin's mouth as he turned away to address the other two.

"Why don't you let me talk to Kim alone?" he asked his companions. A look passed between the men, a flash of some hidden acknowledgement, then Dirk nodded curtly, and turned to leave with Koch behind him.

Finally, they were alone and Austin turned towards her.

"Kim, you have to understand. We all knew the risks. You remember the reports on the other immortals we experimented on. Two lost their heads the first week and the third went insane. But, we've finally come up with almost the exact formula to get the results we need. Yes, it still has problems. Yes, we need to tweak certain things, but overall, MacLeod has come remarkably close to the model we wanted to achieve. So his memory loss was more extensive than we planned? So what?" He shrugged. "At least we got the memory loss. He was a little angrier than we intended, but we wanted him to go after Pierson and take his head. And now he will. We'll learn from MacLeod and next time we'll come even closer."

She smiled at him sweetly and sighed. "Well, since you put it that way, I guess I was overreacting a bit. Thanks for explaining it to me, Mike."

She stood up to leave and reached for her purse. Mike Austin stood as well, gently placing his hand on her shoulder as they walked to the door. 

"Any time, Kim. And besides." He smirked. "You are enjoying the fringe benefits with MacLeod, aren't you? I hear he has quite a reputation in the sack." He winked at her and she cringed inside.

"Of course." She smiled and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Fucking bastard," she muttered to herself, ignoring the cold air that stung her face as she walked hurriedly back to her car. Sliding into the driver's seat, she took out her cell phone. A few quick numbers, and the apartment phone was ringing. She put it away with a smile when it went unanswered. Good, MacLeod wasn't home.

Time to bail, she decided. She looked at her watch, and bit her bottom lip as she calculated her escape. Just enough time to go to the apartment, pick up a few items and get rid of any incriminating evidence. Her fellow conspirators should be gone by the time she got back to the office. She just had to make sure there wasn't anything there that could implicate her later. And, if she could find a few things to blackmail her friends with, well, so much the better. That settled, she leaned forward, turned on the radio to her favorite rock station, and started to hum.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan entered the apartment and looked around. Good, he was alone. After he left the bar, he had spent the next few hours in mindless pursuit: first, driving aimlessly until he was no longer in the city, then running until he was exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally.

It was now nearly dawn and he was well spent. Too tired to think. Too tired to care. The images were still not clear in his head, coming and going too quickly to place them. He felt used up, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

He flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes. Images danced in the recesses of his mind -- Tessa, Richie, Darius. He felt the first tear drops course down his cheeks, and reached up to brush them away. _Too tired to fight it_ , he thought. Just let yourself feel. Get it out, own it. Don't let it own you.

Forcing his body to relax, he breathed slowly and deeply until he was in a near meditative state. His tears had stopped. He was floating inside his own head, looking for a reality he could live with. He saw Joe and Adam. The images from the bar came back to him: he and Adam in the fog, his sword at Adam's throat; Adam on his knees in a dojo, Duncan leaning over him, his katana at Adam's throat. The look of desire in the other man's eyes burned him, and he flushed with sudden arousal. Then it was gone, and he reached out for any other memories willing to give themselves over.

But none came, and he sat up and opened his eyes. He looked around the room, saw their things scattered around the living area, and frowned. Something didn't look right, and he realized that he was remembering the apartment without Kim's things.

Standing up, he stretched and went into the bedroom, thinking a hot shower would soothe his tired muscles. He stepped into the large walk-in closet and grabbed a pair of sweats, started to walk out, then turned and looked again. Something was niggling at his mind, and he reached behind his clothes to pull out a pair of the pants he found that first night. He held them up and studied them. They were simple, well-worn jeans, nothing remarkable, except they weren't his. They were for a much slimmer man. A man Adam's size, for instance. He hung them back up, then began to sort through all the clothes, finding first one article of men's clothing after another that he knew were not his own.

Satisfied, but confused, he threw his sweats on the bed and headed into the bathroom. He turned on the hot spray and stepped under it. The soothing heat felt good and he threw back his head and closed his eyes as it washed away not only the sweat, but his bone-weary fatigue as well. He was no longer trying to remember. His mind was too numb, and it hurt too much. In the next room, the phone was ringing. He ignored it, shutting it out, and then the room was silent once again.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried off, and walked into the bedroom naked. Lying down on the bed, he let himself slip into a state of serenity, focusing on his center, until he was no longer seeing the outside world and its influences.

It was in this state that the thoughts began to resurface. The one piece that had made the least sense finally clicked into place. He remembered Adam. He remembered Joe. Not specifics, but he at least had memories of seeing them in his life before. But not Kim. He couldn't bring up one single memory of their life together before the night he came home from Paris. The proverbial lightbulb came on, and he didn't like what was illuminated. With renewed purpose, he got up, put on his sweats, and began tearing through her things in the apartment.

****

**~~~~~~**

Joe took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, and looked at his watch--again. What the hell was keeping Methos? It had been almost an hour since Joe had called the old immortal, asking him to rendezvous at the old industrial park just outside the city limits.

He took another sip of coffee, wincing at the bitter aftertaste, and thought about the scene with Mac and Methos. He had honestly thought Mac was going to take Methos' head. He wasn't going to let that happen, of course. He would have shot Mac dead first. But, it had been too damn close and he silently cursed himself for almost waiting too long before reacting. But, hell, Mac had stormed into the bar like a mad man, swinging his Katana. By the time Joe's mind had registered what was happening, they were already fighting, and it would have been too risky. Within minutes, Mac had Methos against the wall, and -- _fuck!_

Joe rubbed his beard and looked around. Where was the old son of a bitch? _Hell, come on, buddy. We have work to do._

On the other hand, Joe reflected, the fact that Mac had stopped himself was encouraging. Joe didn't know what was going on with his immortal, but whatever it was, it was tearing the man apart inside. Joe was just damn glad it was a weekday when the bar closed early, and Mac had waited until his evening crowd had cleared out. All he needed was for this little drama to be played out in front of his patrons.

It was mid-morning when things began to come together. Exhausted and worried after the showdown between his friends, Joe had been happy to retreat to his office to sort through Watcher files. He glanced at his security monitor as several young couples filed in and claimed tables around the dance floor. He heard music, muffled through his heavy office door, and absently noted that the jukebox had been cranked up. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he jumped, startled, when his cell phone began ringing in his jacket pocket.

He answered, wondering what news his network would be bringing him about MacLeod.

"Hello."

"Dawson, it's Miller. I think we've got something. We followed the woman to an office building in an old industrial park right inside the city limits. There were three cars already there. She stayed awhile, then left alone. And she appeared pissed as hell. Screeched out of the parking lot like a bat outta hell."

"Have you found out any information on the owners of the building?"

"Yeah, and you're not going to like this. We traced the deed back to the New York Watcher Headquarters. Evidently the place hasn't been used in years. Not since James Horton was kicked out of the Organization."

"Why am I not surprised? Look, Miller. Keep this under wraps. Do not engage with these people. I can handle it from here." He clicked off his cell, and scowled, when he saw the waiting text. "Bout damn time."

Joe was still reflecting on the new information when someone pecked on his car window, and he jumped, sloshing his newly poured cup of coffee onto his lap. "Damn it," he yelled as he rolled down his window to glare at the immortal. "Took you damn long enough. Get your ass in the car."

Grimacing, he tried to dab up the spilled coffee from his jeans as the passenger side door opened and the tall lanky immortal slid into the front seat.

"Joe, why so jumpy? I'm the one who almost lost his head last night. No thanks to you," Methos added with a smirk.

Joe studied the man sitting beside him. He tried to remain annoyed, but something about the amused expression on Methos' face, and the fact that Joe had almost lost him made it impossible.

"I wasn't going to let him take your head, asshole. Though maybe I should," he grumbled.

Amusement flickered across Methos' face -- there -- then quickly gone as the mood turned serious. "What's going on, Joe?"

Joe quickly sobered as well. "My people followed Kim to an office building right up the street. She's gone, but there are still three cars there. They traced the lease to the Watchers, Methos."

"Why am I not surprised?" Methos mumbled sarcastically. "So, what's the plan, Sherlock?"

"I figured we'd do a little surveillance, wait until they leave, let ourselves in and have a look around."

Methos peered out the car window and wrapped his coat more tightly around his body. "Why is it always so bloody cold and damp when we're staking someone out?"

Joe adjusted the thermostat with a flick of a switch. "Bitch, bitch, bitch," he mumbled under his breath. Turning his back on the old immortal, he positioned his seat so he could look out the driver side window. A snicker brought his attention back to the other man. "What's so damn funny?"

"Nothing. I'm just easily amused. Got any more of that coffee?" Methos reached for Joe's thermos.

"Yeah, yeah. Easily amused, my ass," Joe growled irritably as he shoved the thermos towards Methos' outstretched hand. He had a feeling it was going to be a long wait.

****

****

Duncan MacLeod pulled out onto the street at a safe distance behind his lover's red Mustang. After tearing through all their personal things at the loft, he was more certain than ever that the woman was lying. He couldn't begin to fathom why she would pretend to be his lover. Nor could he figure out how she knew about his immortality. But, there was one thing he was certain about. He had never loved this woman.

In fact, if his dreams were any indication, he suspected he had recently been involved in a relationship with another man. Why else would he be remembering the touch and taste of a man when he made love to Kim? The touch and taste of this man was almost visceral; more real than anything else he had experienced since returning from Paris. And whose clothes were those in his closet? Men's clothes that did not fit him?

Suspecting that the missed phone call was from Kim, he had quickly returned her things to order, slipped out to move his SUV from sight--and waited.

It wasn't long before she arrived, only to leave quickly afterwards with her luggage. Soon, they were headed towards the outskirts of town, and he fell back to make sure he wasn't spotted. Seeing her enter an Industrial Park, he flicked on his turn signal and slowed. Once inside the complex, he came to a stop and frowned. Although most of the parking lots were empty, her car was nowhere to be found. She had already turned down one of the side streets and he had lost her. Well, nothing for it, he reasoned, and turned down the nearest street to search for her.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos manipulated the lock, heard it click, and with a satisfied grin at Joe, motioned for him to enter. Joe eased into the building, leaning heavily on his cane, while his other hand held a firm grip on his gun. Behind him, Methos was moving stealthily around the room, his own weapon out and ready.

"Nothing here. Come on." Methos motioned towards the door with a nod of his head, and Joe followed.

They went down a long hallway until they came to another locked door. Joe waited patiently while Methos worked his magic on the lock, grinning when the door slid open. "Thank you, my good man," Joe complimented him with a smirk.

"Don't thank me yet, Joe. I'm sure our friends had some kind of security device set. They'll be returning soon. Let's find something and get the hell out of here."

"Lead on." Joe pointed towards the room with his gun.

Entering, their eyes were immediately drawn to a large plate glass window overlooking the room. Light filtered through, casting enough illumination for them to make out the layout and furnishings in the darkened areas. Beyond the glass appeared a smaller room, set up with a desk and haphazardly placed chairs.

"It looks like a lab," Methos commented as he turned around in the center of the room.

"Yeah, I'd say you're right," Joe agreed. He pointed towards the observation room with his gun. "And someone has been watching."

"Yeah, Watchers," Methos retorted acidly. He found a light switch on the far side of the room and flicked it on. Blinking several times until his eyes adjusted to the light, he turned towards the tall stainless steel doors and pulled them open. "I'd say this is as good a place as any to start looking."

Methos stepped inside and felt the cold air hit him in the face. Joe walked in behind him, nearly colliding against his back when Methos stopped suddenly in front of a row of storage containers on the back shelf.

Methos picked up a container and read the label, feeling ice cold fear grip him as he did.

 __  
**Duncan MacLeod  
** **Tissue Sample  
** **Spleen**  
  
_"Jesus H. Christ,"_ Joe echoed his thoughts out loud as Methos silently cursed in agreement. Methos set the container down and picked up another.

__

__  
**Duncan MacLeod**  
**Urine**  
  
Methos trembled with rage, and purposely, albeit with difficulty, pushed the emotion away, knowing if he was going to help Duncan, he needed to be in control. With one last disgusted look, he exited the walk-in refrigerator, letting the door take the brunt of his anger when he slammed it shut.

He shifted his attention to a tall set of filing cabinets. Reaching them, he jerked open the top drawer. He felt, rather than saw, Joe settle beside him as he flipped through the alphabetized files.

"Methos ...." His friend's voice was gentle, and it grated on his nerves like sandpaper.

"Save it, Joe," he snapped irritably.

"Hey buddy. We're on the same side here."

Methos closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I know, Joe. I'm sorry, okay?" He opened his eyes and looked over at his friend.

Joe gave him a small affirmative nod and grimaced. "An immortal's worst nightmare." He glanced towards the refrigerator as he spoke.

Methos followed his gaze, and felt something tighten in his chest. "It's the fucking Watchers, Joe. You know it and I know it."

"Of course I know it, Methos." Joe told him gruffly.

"I just wish we had time to catch all the bloody bastards responsible for this," Methos said tersely, waving his arm to encompass the lab in his tirade.

Joe nodded, silently affirming what they both knew. Whatever had happened to Mac, they were running out of time. Last night's episode was proof of that.

"Well, I guess we know what happened to MacLeod," Methos said out loud. With a disgusted snort, he turned to leave. "Come on, Dawson. Let's get the hell out of here in case our friends decide to return."

They were only a few steps from the door when they heard voices approaching from the hallway. Holding onto the files, they quickly slipped back inside the walk-in refrigerator just as the door to the lab clicked open. 

Methos pressed his ear to the door and listened, shivering as the cold air nipped at his exposed skin. Nothing. He looked at Joe, who raised a brow in answer to the unspoken question. Methos eased open the door and peered outside.

"All clear," he announced softly. "Someone's here though. Come on, let's get the hell outta Dodge."

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly," Joe mumbled as they looked out into the hall.

They eased down the hallway, thankful for the plush carpeting that muffled their footsteps. They had barely navigated the first bend toward the front of the building when they heard the first angry words. They froze for one long moment, then quickly positioned themselves outside the room where the inflamed voices were splitting the air. 

Joe reached inside his coat, anticipating the need for a rapid retrieval of his gun, until a touch to his forearm stopped him. He glanced at his friend who mouthed the word, "Wait," and he nodded and withdrew his hand. 

The voices were getting louder, and Methos' eyes narrowed in concentration as he pressed against the door. Joe's heart rate accelerated, and his body hummed with tension when the woman's voice became easily recognizable. Beside him, Methos was radiating a deathly calm that didn't bode well for the room's inhabitants. Joe's hand was on the door knob, turning it, when they heard a man cry out, followed by a hard thud.

Methos pushed the door open and rushed in, with Joe following behind. A tall, thin man with short sandy hair was lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. His forehead was bleeding profusely from a large gap over his left eye; his black rimmed glasses twisted across his nose and right cheek. Next to him lay a large paperweight smeared with blood.

Standing at a set of open file cabinets was Kim, holding a container of gasoline which she was dousing liberally onto the files. She turned, startled, when they entered. The can dropped from her hand, leaking the pungent accelerant across the carpet.

Joe trained his gun on her, coughing as the gas fumes burned his mouth and nose. Beside him, Methos had aimed his own weapon in her direction.

"Well, well. Look who we have here. Joe, I told you we would meet interesting people in this part of town," Methos mocked.

"Yeah, you just never know, do you buddy?" Joe answered with a strangled cough. He saw Methos look at him in concern, and waved it away with his gun. "I'm fine, Adam."

Methos nodded, and they both returned their attention back to the petite female at the filing cabinet.

"It's over," she snapped. "MacLeod's a fucking nut case."

"And you had nothing to do with that?" Methos asked coldly.

Joe took satisfaction at the way her eyes widened with fear when Methos advanced on her, easily dwarfing her smaller frame. Unfortunately, whatever Methos had planned for the traitorous female was never realized, as the door flew open, and two men entered the room with drawn weapons.

"Well, what do we have here?" A tall, red haired man pointed his gun in Joe's direction. "Drop it," he ordered, while the other man aimed his weapon at Methos.

Joe leaned forward, and dropped his gun to the floor as his mind worked fervently to place the men in his organization. The red haired man he didn't know, but the other one he was sure he had seen before. Beside him, Methos had dropped his gun as well, as the second man approached him cautiously.

"Your sword, Mr. Pierson. Take it out gently and throw it over there." He pointed towards the center of the room, where his partner could easily secure it.

Joe watched as Methos reached into his coat and brought out the Ivanhoe. He couldn't help but wonder what the immortal was thinking. After all, these men knew what he was and how to kill him. Shit! What were they thinking coming here without back up?

The man confronting Methos grinned, and reached up to adjust his wire rimmed glasses on his small pointed nose. Something in the movement stirred Joe's memory and a name came into his head.

"Austin. Mike Austin." Methos glanced at Joe questionably, and he grinned. "Adam, meet Mr. Mike Austin. He used to be one of the top men in the Eastern division until he got into a bit of difficulty with the law. Got demoted all the way to down to filing, didn't you, Austin?"

The red headed man chuckled softly and Austin's face flushed with anger. Behind him, Joe was aware of movement, smelt a whiff of perfume mingling with the gas fumes, and felt the heat from her body as she pressed close.

His observant friends had not missed a thing, and Austin took that moment to invite their female companion into the conversation. 'Astute bunch', Joe grunted to himself.

"Kim, is that you hiding back there? Come out, dear," Austin commanded her smoothly.

She eased out to stand at Joe's side, her face now turned ashen.

Austin looked over at the man who was still sprawled unconscious on the floor. He grinned and addressed Methos. "Mr. Pierson, what do you do with people who don't follow orders? Hm? They can't even play nicely when they're together." He turned his attention back to Kim when Methos merely raised a brow in answer.

"Well, dear. I guess I should be thanking you for taking care of the doctor for me."

"You fucking asshole," she spat at him. "You were going to kill us all along."

"Of course I was," Austin agreed and dragged in a heavy breath. "Surely you didn't think I would allow you to walk around with knowledge that could destroy me if the wrong people found out? Like these two gentlemen, for instance." He waved his gun in Joe's and Methos' direction, then pointed it back at Kim.

"Even if you kill us, the Watchers will still know you were behind it, Austin," she reminded him with contempt.

"Don't be tiresome," Dirk interjected. "Do you really think we would let ourselves be implicated in any of this? We both will have solid alibis for the time period during this entire unfortunate incident. Too bad the brilliant Dr. Koch and you don't."

"Yes, it is a shame. Actually, Kim, you've proven more valuable than I thought you would. Besides taking care of Dr. Koch for us, you've brought your own gasoline. With his quickening ..." he cocked his head in Methos' direction, "... and a match, this place should go up quite nicely. By the time the organization gets it all sorted out, they'll have you two and Dawson, as well as one of Dawson's pet immortals. I don't think they'll be looking for anyone else. They'll be too busy trying to clean this mess up and hide it away."

Dirk sighed heavily and glanced at Austin. "Enough gloating, Mike. We need to get out of here before anyone else shows up."

Mike Austin grinned at Methos. "I'd say you're quite correct, Dirk. Take care of our lovely Miss Lacey will you, and then we can take care of Dawson and Pierson."

Joe felt a shiver slide down his back as cold beads of sweat dotted his forehead and neck. The air was thick with the odor of gasoline, and he coughed again as it burned down his throat. He was aware of Kim beside him, but his body was wracked from coughing when she grabbed him and shoved him hard towards Dirk.

Joe was unable to catch his balance as he was shoved forward. He reached for something to grab onto, found empty air, and cursed. A gunshot split the air and a searing pain ripped through his side. He hit the floor hard, felt his skull connect, and silently blessed whoever had padded the concrete with thick carpeting. His clothes turned wet with his blood, and he closed his eyes as the dizziness owned him before he blacked out.

****

**~~~~~~**

Methos watched in horror as his friend was shot and hit the ground. "Joe," he shouted, and without thought, reacted, using his anger and fear to guide him. He threw Austin aside and tackled Dirk, surprising him as they both went down. Reacting on instinct rather than thought, he grabbed the other man's head and wrapped his forearms around his neck. He twisted with all his might, heard the snap that signaled broken bone, and grinned ferally into the man's face as the life went out of him.

Two gunshots exploded into the air, one a split second after the other, and he swore out loud. Sharp pain and searing fire scorched his back and went straight through to his abdomen. He clutched his bloody midsection, and rolled over in time to see Austin's gun drop from his hand. Trying to pinpoint the source of the second gunshot, Methos turned his head, and fought against the sudden wave of nausea and dizziness that wracked his body.

Kim was standing over Austin, Joe's gun in her unsteady hand, as it remained trained on the Watcher. He had fallen face first onto the floor, the rattling in his chest announcing his fast approaching demise. She grinned as she studied the scene laid out before her.

In the corner, the file cabinet was blazing with fire, and Methos wondered in the back of his mind when she had struck a match and set it aflame. _You've been a busy girl,_ he thought to himself with an inward chuckle that outwardly turned into a painful gasp for air.

He watched her from slitted eyes as she advanced towards him. He could feel the quickening energy from his body working to heal the damage from the bullet, but the smoke was quickly filling his lungs, and he had lost a lot of blood. He also imagined that the damage from the bullet was quite extensive, and with blinding clarity, knew he would not heal in time to save his own life.

Kim began coughing as the thick smoke filled the small room. She shakily tossed the gun on a nearby table, and reached for her purse, pulling out a mask to quickly place over her nose and mouth, before bending down to retrieve Methos' sword.

 _Clever girl_. Nice to know the bitch was prepared before she set the place on fire.

She advanced on him, her hands wrapped securely around the hilt of his blade. "Fuck." The words came out between clenched teeth, and he gasped and coughed as the smoke began to strangle him.

Consciousness was drifting away, and Methos struggled to hold on. He tasted blood pooling in his mouth, and looked up through bleary eyes as she stood over him, his sword raised high over her head, ready to drop across his exposed neck.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan found the front door unlocked and entered the building. He smelled the smoke, heard the alarms shrill through the building, and ran down the hall. Two gunshots rang out closely together, and he slowed as smoke began filtering out from under the door of a room down the hallway.

He saw an open bathroom, and ran inside, while simultaneously yanking off his shirt and throwing it under the faucet. Turning on the water, he soaked the shirt and quickly rang it out to place over his nose and mouth.

He moved quickly towards the room, and reached for the door knob, noting with relief that it was still only warm to his touch. At least the entire room wasn't engulfed with fire, he thought with relief. Within seconds he was inside, and he stopped cold, frozen by the sight in front of him.

His eyes took in three men he didn't know, sprawled lifeless a few feet into the room. Duncan barely had time to give them thought, however, only sparing them a cursory glance, before settling his attention on the other three people in the room.

Joe Dawson was face down, a pool of blood soaking the carpet around him. But, it was the other two people in the room that had him frozen as his heart dropped like a lead weight into his gut, robbing him of breath. His skin prickled with cold fear as the heat from the fire scorched him in counterpoint, sending a trickle of sweat down his spine.

Kim was in the center of the room, standing over Adam's blood drenched body with his sword raised high over her head. Adam was barely conscious as he choked on the thick smoke, his breaths coming in raspy wheezes, as he struggled to pull himself up to fight for his life.

Duncan looked on in horror, as the woman he had recently made love to, stood ready to take a life. "Kim, no!".

She paused to glare at him, her eyes red rimmed and tearing from the acrid smoke filling the room. She had a mask covering her nose and mouth, muffling her words as she warned him from interfering. "Don't come any closer, MacLeod. You can't stop me."

"Kim, why?" He pulled his Katana from its sheath, and advanced cautiously towards her.

"MacLeod ... Duncan." She paused, and lowered the Ivanhoe to rest against the wounded immortal's neck. "I told you what he did. I have to kill him. You understand, don't you? He's a murderer and a rapist. He was behind this. Him and Dawson both. They set this whole thing up. I found out and followed them here."

Duncan halted as a pounding headache started behind his eyes, and suddenly he couldn't think. Deep down he knew any hesitation could cost him his life, but his thoughts and emotions were spiraling out of control, and he couldn't find the words in his mind to form a coherent thought.

He felt a tightening in his chest and fought desperately to focus his thoughts. She was watching him closely, the blade never wavering from Adam's neck. He met her eyes, and remembered the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her skin, and the heat of her body when they made love. He tried to recall the feelings and emotions that brought him here, the sense of distrust and betrayal just within his grasp, only to feel them slip away instead.

Then her words were permeating his thoughts, and he forced himself to move forward. "He's a rapist. He has to die."

She began shouting at him in panic as the fire spread, and the room began crashing down around them. Time stood still and he froze, his mind a turmoil of contradictory thoughts and emotions. Bile seared the back of his throat, and he coughed into his wet shirt, feeling his own lungs burn from lack of oxygen.

Fear settled in his gut, and he started moving slowly towards her again. He noted the panic in her eyes, and he paused as she let go of Adam's sword with one hand to reach into her jeans pocket. Holding his sword up in surrender, Duncan kept his shirt firmly over his nose and mouth with his other hand, and sucked in a deep breath.

Unable to maneuver Methos' heavy broadsword with one hand, it dipped, slicing a thin bloody line into the now unconscious immortal's neck. She brought out a small black object from her pocket and pointed it in his direction.

"Stop MacLeod or you're dead," she yelled into the smoke filled space between them.

"Kim ...." He took another step forward, then froze, as she frantically clicked a button on what appeared to be a small remote device.

Then time sped up, and everything happened without thought or feeling, in a blur of motion, action and reaction. Her eyes widened in fear as she threw the object aside, and raised the sword again, preparing to strike. Simultaneously, one of the other men rose into consciousness, and lunged for her legs, taking her down. She dropped the sword in the struggle as the tall thin man, whose face and white lab coat were smeared with blood and soot, wrapped his hands around her throat. She began to beat and claw at his chest, then went limp, as she gurgled behind the mask that covered the lower part of her face. Duncan's baser instincts told him to save her no matter what she had done. No matter the cost. After all, she was not only a woman, but a woman he had taken into his bed. And, she was mortal.

His emotions and thoughts were warring inside him, and he knew he didn't have time. The whole place was about to come down. He sheathed his sword and reached for the man to pull him away from her.

Then suddenly everything changed on a breath. The file cabinet collapsed and the fire blazed across the room. Duncan watched in panic as the flames ran across the carpet and licked up Adam's legs. In that instant, time stood still. He looked at Adam's face, pale against the dark blue carpet. He watched the flames engulf Adam's clothes and burn up his body. Duncan felt a ripping pain in his mind, and the veil lifted, flooding him with memories.

Pain gripped him as he ran forward into the flames, reaching the other man within seconds. He grabbed at his shoulders, not caring when he had to release the shirt from his face and breathe in the acrid smoke. Duncan was coughing and choking, but he pulled harder until he had Methos away from the fire, and threw himself on the still form, rolling on the carpet until the flames on the man's body were extinguished.

Duncan cradled the dead man against his chest. His own body was throbbing from the burns he had just sustained, but he barely gave them notice. He closed his eyes, kissed the other man's clammy forehead, and whispered one word under his breath. "Methos."

Opening his eyes, he assessed their situation as his mind cleared from its earlier confusion. He saw Joe lying next to them, and glanced around to locate the other people in the room. The other two men had not moved and he presumed they were indeed dead. Kim was lying motionless, her body now engulfed in flames as the third man threw himself through the blaze to stumble towards the door.

Duncan stood up, taking Methos in his arms to lift him over his shoulder. "We need to get them out," Duncan yelled to the man, relieved when he turned back to grab Joe under the arms to pull him from the building.

Once outside, he lowered Methos onto the asphalt, and looked around. Joe was lying on his back next to them, and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the man's chest rise with respirations. The other man had collapsed on the ground beside them, his own breaths raspy as he struggled for air.

Duncan heard the whine of sirens, and prepared to escape with his lover. He did a quick appraisal of Joe, and satisfied that his Watcher's pulse was strong, and he was breathing without difficulty, he turned towards the unknown man next to them. He grabbed the man's wrist, saw the Watcher tattoo, and let all the pieces fall into place.

"The ambulance will be here for you and Joe any minute. Adam and I have to go," he told him tersely.

The man winced in pain and attempted to grasp Duncan's arm. His voice was strained and hoarse as he croaked out a plea. "No, please."

Duncan hesitated, feeling his skin crawl with trepidation as the man clawed at his arm to stop him. "You know what we are. We have to go."

"No ... I ... must tell ... you." The man gasped.

Duncan pulled Methos into his arms and knelt beside the Watcher. "Quickly."

"I'm ..." he paused to cough, then rasped out on his last breaths, "... sorry ... so ... sorry." Then the man wheezed out one final breath and died.

Duncan shook his head sadly, and with one last look at Joe, he swept Methos up over his shoulder.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan and Methos entered the emergency room hand in hand. They walked up to the sign-in desk, not caring that people stopped to stare.

"Anne Lindsay," Duncan told the nurse politely, and waited while she phoned the nurse's station in the back.

"Go to the back and take a right. Dr. Lindsay will be waiting for you." The nurse smiled politely and pressed the button that opened the emergency room doors.

They entered the back together, and quickly found Anne Lindsay who was coming out of a patient's room.

"Duncan." She smiled with obvious relief when she saw them approach.

"Anne, how is he?"

"Joe was lucky; none of his internal organs were damaged. He has lost a great deal of blood though, which we've already started replacing with infusions. I'm actually more concerned with the smoke inhalation."

"He will be okay, won't he?" Duncan asked, barely holding his annoyance at bay when a staff member stared at his and Methos' joined hands. 

"He'll be fine. I just want to watch him over night." Her beeper went off and she reached for it, pulling it from her waistband to read the text. "The OR suite is ready," she informed them. "Are you?"

"Yeah. You're sure no one else will be around?" Methos asked as they followed behind her.

"Everything is just the way you wanted, Adam," she said from over her shoulder. "You'll be the only one there to assist me. I just hope you know what you're doing. I'm not a neurosurgeon."

"We'll be fine," Duncan assured her as they advanced to the surgical wing of the hospital. "No matter what damage has been done; I'll recover. I just want this thing out of my head, and the sooner the better." 

She nodded and opened the door, allowing them to pass through. A few minutes later Duncan was lying on an OR table, his head draped and ready while Anne Lindsay picked up a drill.

****

**~~~~~~**

Duncan moved his mouth against his lover's and flicked out his tongue. Methos' tongue darted out to meet it, and he moaned as their tongues mated, sliding together in a sensuous dance. He pressed his groin against Methos' hardness, his heart rate accelerating when his own aching penis glided across the hard, damp arousal between his lover's legs.

He began a slow undulation of his hips, at the same time being aware of the damp throbbing shaft that was sliding against him as a pair of long legs wrapped around his thighs.

"Duncan." His name was a moan on Methos' lips as he began to thrust harder against Duncan's body.

Duncan closed his eyes tightly, and sucked in a deep breath, as his body tensed with the increasing pressure in his cock. They were each thrusting fast and hard against the other, a mesh of long limbs, throbbing cocks and aching balls, amidst moans and shouts of pleasure as they sprayed one another with their release.

Duncan laughed with panting breaths as they disentangled from each other's arms. "God, Methos." He hugged the man tightly and placed a kiss on his sweaty forehead. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Duncan." His lover sighed against his shoulder.

Duncan closed his eyes, and breathed in his lover's scent. Methos was real and warm in his arms. The air was musky and hot, and he felt his cock reawaken with interest. Duncan pulled his lover more tightly against him, and jabbed Methos' hip with his hardening sex. Feeling Methos hesitate, and slightly pull away, he shifted to prop himself on his elbow. He looked at his lover's face in concern.

"Methos, what's wrong?"

Methos opened his eyes and studied him, then reached up to stroke Duncan's face gently. "Nothing, love. Sorry."

Duncan studied him intently, saw the dark green-brown flecks of color in his eyes, the fine lines around his mouth as he attempted to smile, and decided that he didn't believe his lover for one instant.

"Methos, we just got through this nightmare. Don't keep secrets from me now." He watched and waited, relieved when he saw Methos smile.

"Duncan ...."

He smiled back. "The truth, old man."

Methos frowned and pulled away to sit up in bed. "Fine. You want to know what's bothering me? Why did you forget everything after your life with Tessa?"

"Methos, I couldn't control what I remembered. I don't know." Duncan answered quietly. The truth was, he had wondered the same thing himself.

"I know, but did you ever consider the possibility that you didn't want to remember?" 

Duncan breathed in deeply, and mentally counted to ten. "Methos, I love you. I don't know why I didn't remember anything after Tessa. But, it's not because I didn't want to." He looked at Methos pleadingly, and felt his heart sink when the man only glared at him in return. "Look, I was trying to remember you. When I was with Kim, I was thinking of you. I mean I didn't know it was you, but I remembered being with a man while we were ...." Duncan paused, wishing he could take back the words the second they hit the air. It was with relief then, when he saw his lover smile.

"Really?"

"Really. It's you I love, Methos. You're the only one I want. You should know that by now. You make my heart glad."

He wasn't prepared for the outburst of laughter his declaration provoked, and he fell back against the pillows with his arms crossed solidly across his chest. What the hell?

Methos was laughing loudly next to him as he wiped at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Um, sorry." His lover finally gathered his wits to apologize.

Duncan glared at him.

"Is that the only seduction line you know?"

Duncan furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"You make my heart glad," Methos mimicked. "Is that the only line you know? It worked with Amanda, didn't it? I mean, it's not very original."

Duncan studied his lover, saw the laughter on his face, and felt himself smile. Without warning, he pounced and pinned Methos to the bed. "I'll show you original. You're an annoying, irritating pain in the ass, but you're my pain in the ass and I love you. There, original enough for you?"

Methos flexed his hips, and moaned, when their cocks slid together.

"Yeah, that's original," he panted.

Duncan grinned wickedly and slid down Methos' body. He ignored the hard cock bobbing in front of his face and grabbed Methos' long legs instead. With one smooth motion, he had Methos' legs pulled up and apart, and he dipped down to press his tongue against the puckered opening between Methos' butt cheeks.

He bathed the small orifice with his tongue, swirling it around the hole over and over, grinning when it winked open at him. The strong woodsy taste settled on his tongue and he breathed in deeply, cataloguing the heavy scent of his lover's arousal when he stroked across the sensitive opening. He darted his tongue into the center in quick fluttering motions, and held on tightly as Methos twisted his hips to grind his ass to Duncan's mouth.

Duncan was rubbing his own hardness into the silk covered mattress, until he felt himself edge too close to completion. Groaning, he pulled himself up between Methos' legs and slid his length into the hot orifice. He slid in easily as the other man was still slick with lubricant, as well as Duncan's come, from an earlier joining of their bodies.

Methos wrapped his legs around Duncan's waist tightly. Duncan began to thrust as Methos flexed his hips, his cock waving in the air as his ass was pounded. The silky interior of Methos' body was gripping Duncan hotly and he thrust harder and faster.

"Fuck," Methos panted, and tightened his legs around Duncan's body.

Duncan felt the other man shudder, and knew his cock was sliding across Methos' gland with every pass. He held on tighter and grunted between panting breaths. "Touch ... yourself ... love. Now."

He continued pounding inside the tender hole, his balls bouncing off Methos' ass every time he struck home. He felt Methos' hand reach between them, felt the frenzied movement of fist on hard flesh, and began thrusting with short, hard strokes. Duncan was climbing towards his climax, and he tensed, grunted, and flew apart inside his lover's body as it ripped from his balls into his cock, and out in hot blasts of pure sensation.

Underneath him, Methos was bucking and shouting as he sprayed their stomachs with his come.

Duncan released Methos' legs and fell down beside him as he struggled for breath. Once he could speak again, he turned towards his lover and placed a sweaty arm across his chest. "I love you, my annoying, irritable pain in the ass."

"Don't push it, MacLeod." Methos' voice was low, deep, and threatening.

Duncan smiled and whispered close to Methos' ear. "And you make my heart glad."

Duncan was still laughing when he was flipped out of bed onto the floor.

****

**~~~~~~**

Joe looked up as the two men came into his room. They were holding onto each other's belt loops, and Joe had to smile.

"How're you feeling, Joe?" Methos asked him as they neared the bed.

"I've been better, Adam. I see you two came out alright." Joe watched as the two men pulled apart and went to sit on the couch next to the bed. Methos winced as his butt made contact with the cushion, and Joe grinned when Mac flushed in response.

 _Problems there, buddy?_ Joe thought to himself. Outwardly, he smiled and kept quiet. He guessed there was only so much immortal healing could do. "They're going to release me tomorrow if everything goes okay today," Joe said instead, watching as Methos scooted forward on the seat to take the pressure from his sore ass.

"Have you found out anything else, Joe?" Mac asked him seriously.

Joe sobered immediately and shook his head. "I've got the main office looking into it, Mac. But all the files were destroyed, which may be a blessing. No one else seems to know anything about their operation, so it appears Austin and Dirk may have been working alone."

Methos stood up and faced him solemnly. "I don't believe that and neither do you, Joe."

With that, his two friends started walking toward the door. Joe opened his mouth to respond, then closed it just as quickly, releasing a loud sigh instead. What else could he say? "There's only so much I can do, Mac. Give me a break here," he called after them.

"We know there are good men in the organization, Joe," Methos told him.

"But ..." Duncan interjected. He took Methos' hand, and they walked back to Joe's hospital bed. "This is the second group of renegades that we know about. How many more are out there, Joe? When is too many times going to be enough?"

Joe looked up and scowled. "Just give me a chance, okay? I'm set to meet with the central office as soon as I get out of here. Let me try to fix this."

"I don't know if we can do that," Duncan stated glumly. He reached out and squeezed Joe's shoulder lightly. "Bye, Joe."

Methos nodded, and they turned to leave. 

Joe watched the two men walk away, but he had to know. "What are you going to do, Mac? You can't start a war. This has got to end. Please let it end," he pleaded in desperation.

Mac glanced at Methos, who released Duncan's hand and walked back to the bed.

Methos looked into Joe's face and shrugged his shoulders. "We can't promise, Joe. You know that."

Joe frantically searched for a rebuttal. He needed to say something, anything to stop the impending storm, but his arguments were useless, war-torn and tattered from overuse, and he was silenced when Methos spoke instead. "Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

They left the room as Joe turned over the Latin phrase in his mind. 'Sed quis custodiet ipos custodes?'

With a tired sigh, he spoke out loud. "Who's watching the Watchers?"

 

_Finis_  


**Author's Note:**

> Edited March 25, 2017


End file.
